It’s the color of the sky

It’s saying goodbye

It’s the hue of the crashing waves

It’s what the darkness craves

It’s the color of her eyes

It’s what comes out as we cry

Is the same

As the color of the sky

But only

Prior to its weeping

It's the same

As the color of the water

But only

The stormy sea

Not

The tranquil lake

Or placid ocean

It's the same

As the color of music

But only

Like Muddy Waters

And B.B. King

Not

Like Michael Jackson

Or Lady Gaga

The color of sadness

Is the color of my thoughts

When I think of you

An impossible hue

The color is....

it's the feeling when the last chords of your favourite song ends,

when the room is perfectly quiet

and perfectly still.

it’s his eyes at midnight

when the only light is from the streetlight above you

and your heart pounding in your chest,

because he’s promising you forever

it’s the beach at noon

when the sea and sky blend into one

and the horizon stretches into your soul.

it's the tears when you lose him.

and the skies when you find yourself.

its the opening chords of dawn

and the final chorus of dusk.

Of this hue are certain starfish,

as well as the moor frog,

one in two million lobsters,

a fairly famous dog;

a lovely ringed octopus,

the hyacinth macaw,

the dragon-like ribbon eel

the polygamous peafowl;

the sky, when it is cloudless,

the Mediterranean Sea,

his eyes, full of starlight,

when they look at me;

my mood when I am lonely

when you are far away

when all is dark and dreary

each dawn, gloomy and gray.

Sky and sea,

You and me,

Memories of what we used to be.

Rivers, streams, flowing for years,

Rushing torrents of my tears,

Gifts of life, necessity,

Sorrow, a solemn melody.

Berry, bird, crystaline stone.

With time it drips, quiet, alone.

I look up, half-blinded by the sun,

And all I can make out is denim ensconced by the sky.

A subtle shift to the right reveals the ocean in the distance,

A handful of terns swooping and diving.

I take the hand offered to me, one that is

Calloused and rough with years of hard labor.

I wonder what could have caused such chafing and blistering

And for how many years it took to reach that point.

But questions like this are pushed to the side,

For as I adjust to the daylight I see a pair of eyes

That would make Paul Newman glower with rage.

We are in three shades,

depicting scenes from days

past:

There on the concrete,

and you ask if you may kiss me

and you show me the power

in permission.

There in your bed,

barely touching,

we hover over blankets

and we talk about love

and each other.

Here, before you leave,

our fingers parallel

you promise your return

we shall see.

like lilting oceans, wandering seas

palm trees waltzing in the breeze;

in sultry air, a seagull’s flight

across the hazy, distant night

sunset over crystal waves,

and into solitary caves:

where Siren songs once rang below

like memories some time ago

evening decked with stars awake

dreams reflected in the lake

silver lining, darkened skies,

a lonely sailor’s compromise

until tomorrow’s early dawn,

the night is painted, skies are drawn

like isolation’s silent tune

divine, beneath a crescent moon.