burning notes

i said,
you are eighteen years old
and already a black and white photograph:
colorless,
rich with value/poor of hue.

i watched you kiss the rose i dropped
into your lap–
hesitant to touch your fingers,
lest you trade my colors
(however sparse)
for your shades,
and make of me a sham
in the eyes of rainbows–

but i would give you my spectrum
to make up for the times i dented your frame

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s