Like if You Could Spray Paint Air

It always began with my hands. That's when I knew the

synesthetic connections with a new person were about to be made

and I was excited.

I was excited to see the colors around the people that meant something.

The splashes of red around their feet, the purple dots beside their left arms, the dashed yellow lines along their legs.

But then she came and still it begins with my hands

except the first time it happened

I was terrified.

She had none of the color, but they had all of the feeling.

The tingly numbness that sends me reeling,

that works its way into balls of heat that run through my hands

to my arms and arriving at my core.

This is no metaphor,

this is real.

These are feels.

I'm obsessed now with making her understand, but

The ways elude me while her scent deludes me,

when did my inner machinations become so confusing?

The words don't come easy,

they just hang in the air

As my legs grow sweaty on the black leather chair.

She takes the whole of me and turns it inside out,

takes what I thought I knew and replaces it with doubt

and self assurance

and adventure, comfort, oh dear!

A new way of thinking and fear-

Yes fear!

Great strings of apprehension, that encourage me to run, no sprint!

But there's also placation-

she's different, she's new.

How could I run

When she's torn me into

A gazillion little pieces,

Dichotomies galore-

But complain I shall not;

I've not been here before.

So instead I just stare at my open hands,

wondering if she can hear

The blood pumping in my chest.

Wondering if she can feel the thoughts inside that won't rest.

Wondering if she can taste my desire and lust.

But I press my palms together in the folds of my dress

Shy away from her gaze and freeze, motionless.

She turns up the dial to silence the quiet

There needs to be sound, a filler, a hum.

Then she asks with her glance if I want to share.

But how do you say “I can feel you there...and there.”?

Or

"when I say your name it tastes like honey,

And when you say mine, the world is sunny.

And I can't help but laugh even when you're not funny."

Her perimeter is fuzzy while her area is precise,

Like if you could spray paint air.

Her color stays bright,

The yellows-those hues.

But nothing in the universe provides any clues

To the way that I'm feeling

In those feeling parts...

You know, the secret place

Where the feel words start?

The forbidden place I like to call my...

Farts?

Or heart, yeah that too.

Maybe just maybe;

I'm not sure enough to say,

I’m not sure enough to say.

Everyday I get a bit more excited

Because of the incredible friendship she has already provided.

By her my whole life has been blindsided

I am her friend and she is my fire.

She speaks with such color; her sound my desire.

Her words roll off her tongue

Like milk laced with paint.

I can see it,

right there!

It's close enough to touch.

But I'm too scared to reach,

I'm too scared to reach.

So instead I'll stay perfectly

Clad in disguise,

For to extend too far could

Be my demise.

Because having her this way

Is a pleasant surprise;

This ripple-less water will more

Than suffice.

How glorious it is,

And what a nice treat

To have no expectations

From her or from me...

This splendiferous thing

In which we can just be.

I wouldn't trade it for much,

Oh no sir-ee!

She terrifies and electrifies

Paints my world and colors

my skies

with laughter and tea

and puns and wine.

Bad jokes she laughs at

most of the time.

Bugs and ranting and

something sublime.

Adventures and sharing

and so much of our time.

Something this good must be

kin to a crime...

But how could it be when I feel so alive?

🧡sg