April 30 - I See No Colours (The Series)

I see your face,
the paleness of its language
speaks in tongues
the colours of spring,
forgets its own anger,
patches every field,
seeks every nook,
caresses every glass blade,
and hugs every tree,
to turn stings to kisses.

I see your hair,
black yesterday, brown today
and prehaps red tomorrow.
It doesn't matter.
The dreads are gone now
and straight strands remain
to reflect the whispers
of an ocean's tune
that spans the earth
like a breath of mint.

I see your eyes,
the slant at the corners,
now broken free
from the dying echo
of a caged flamingo,
evangelised into sweet
mountain air tapping
on your neck, forgetting
its shapes but pregnant
with the music it carries.

I see your nose,
the slight turn at the tip
carries the spirit of death
like a cowboy in a showdown,
fingers fused to the trigger,
ready to spin black into white
at a wriggle and a twinkle
that can hang up stars
or split a nation like splitting
of personalities.

I see your lips,
the taut redness,
bursting at the seam
like a tight cheongsam
with just the right tension
to hold the lust in,
weaving wisdom into balls
of thread that slowly unreel
into cinematic viewsof a dove.

I see your spirit,
a melody that can do a treble,
a falsetto, a tenor,
and chain octaves and pitches together
like DNA polymers and molecules
entwined into colours
on the palette of an artist
painting just the right note.
I remember all the colours
but see none of them.

NAPOWRIMO