Synaesthesia

Stars of colour burst and fade,
Replaced by brighter hues reflecting shapes
Etched on paper, spoken by the tongue,
Dancing in glorious transcendence
Like drops of melted paint.

A vivid rainbow of graphemes,
A profound and fleeting impression,
It flickers and dies and changes in frequency,
Speech an impressionable mood board
Transmuted in colour from lips.

I hear it blue pink green,
A palette of beauty and contrast,
They shine and dip my own aurora,
Hanging threads of ethereal curtain
Dipping in turn they fade and grow.

Phonemes of colour spring into view,
My mind an equalizer of tones,
With no relation to meaning.
The brilliant word of love
An epitome of dullness.

They speak in colour and write me a rainbow,
A waterfall of iridescent oil slick bubble soap shine,
A psychedelic male mallard,
An illumination of confusion
That criss-crosses, swarms and contradicts.

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The Limits of my Language

The limits of my language are… like bulldog clips on my tongue. How can I conceptualise what is in my heart with words? My feelings for you that are untranslatable into any language. For how can I express what I feel when all I have is a language limited by its very nature?

Your eyes are tinted like feathers on a Jay’s wing. Blue amongst green. Green eyes that pierce me with the depth of a Cornish whirlpool.

You have more than a hint of Magic about you. You read me like a book. Then you peel back pages I never knew I had and you read those too. You held out a hand and restored a piece of me I had lost, and shattered…the limits of my world.

 

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