Aphotic
Your hands
strike midnight like gold,
stroking halfway between
sunrise to sunset.
Your eyes, pitch black
swimming aphotic.
Your mind is sapphire brilliant,
leaves me chasing the way sunlight
reveals you, angling myself against
the indigo sky beyond the sea,
you are illustrated in the richest pigment,
ultramarine, Renaissance man,
romantic revival - "man being
the measure of all things..."
I lay center, still,
azure tincture, periodically hiding
in cobalt, the mixture of all these things becomes intoxicating;
I beg you
come back, vivid blue rings
around me.
Violet strings along green into
the spectrum, I cry, "come up
from the floor!" into what appears to be
visible
light,
inversely dark, the mirror
ripples like water-
scattering.
Glancing toward the sun
I saw pieces come together
and you were not represented.
From infinite space,
I saw into the depths of pitch black, trapped
in a dream of you, staring upward
in every shade of dark blue.
