semi-synesthesia
when i was younger
i saw art and colour
whenever music played
the same magnificence
i still live to see
i stayed alive for
the luminance of the forest fire,
the battle for life went on
in the ribs of the dragon that fought
as it did in the candle-lit lungs that listened
or the wind in my technicolour hair
as my arms met the ground
the air hits cold on the faces of the crowd
with as much precision
as those they're playing to
