Synesthete Soliloquy

by Aspen Rosman

My fingertips chip as you hold my hand.
Each black chip digs into the rug below
As i keep wondering if this was planned.
Did you want me to bask in the afterglow?

Your blue and grey clouds have clogged up my throat
And i don't think you'd know how much it stung
Because on your feelings i cannot vote
But confessions want to roll off the tongue.

the muted red orange that you showed me
Sparked and kindled into my small fire.
You've used the mediterranean sea
But speared me onto a flaming pyre.

There's smoggy skies that will make me sink us
But, Love, i can say that i am nonplussed.