Synaesthesia

A darkling bookshop hidden away,

’Twixt neutral stores of beige and grey.

Vivid spines line every nook,

Its vibrant heart a stack of books.

The door slips shut and colours swirl,

Shelves become rainbows and pearls.

Colours to lick, colours to stroke,

Colours to sip and colours like smoke.

Bronze brushes by me, an eagle’s wing,

Lemon tastes sherbet, fizzing with zing.

Sapphire salt sharp as an ocean,

Silver breathes my skin to frozen.

Can’t touch scarlet, red’s too strident,

Reach for gentle green that sighs and

Pours across my open palm,

Pale water streaming cool as balm.

A spark of sun ignites new tones,

Brittle whites that crack like bones.

Raven leather scents sloe dark embers,

A fairy tale half-remembered.

Do all people eat the world like this?

Drink the colours, feel their kiss?

Or is this my own secret dream,

Unleased by magic yet unseen?

I touch a book, the hue spell fades,

Embossed cover, creamy page.

My fingers smooth the wordless lines,

The spell binds me, one more time.