Yellow

She is yellow.

When her fingertips

roll down my cheek,

tracing the path

of tears and smiles,

she leaves gold behind.

She tells me she loves me,

her eyelids flickering like

candlelight. 

Her eyes remind 

me of cinnamon

burning. 

I feel my mouth fill

with hesitation.

How can I answer without

my color?

I feel the fear

growing in the corners 

of my body, 

where the

color of my skin 

runs dry -- 

how colorless 

am I compared 

to the sun.

She is yellow.

She will always outshine 

me. 

She is the sun

and I am the 

color of cement

after unwanted rain,

grey and 

disappointing.

What love of mine

could 

ever reach so far 

from the earth 

that even the stars 

listened?

Reviews

[hanir]

Nicely written! 😊
Simply wonderful!