you make me feel very orange,
a flame in my chest, flicked on
like a lighter intoxicated by its
own smoke whenever we’re on
the wire. you’re not a roaring
flame, but a small one with soft
edges. you’re also the hands
cupped around the flame, not a
cage imprisoning the bird, my heart,
but you are the glass of a lantern,
protecting my orange from wind,
rain and cold. though you stoke
my fire sometimes, causing red
sparks to fly, you aren’t the burns
in my throat, with hot tears leaking
from my eyes. you aren’t a flame
that burns both ends of my limit
as i wait for the wick to disintegrate
to ashes so i can leave with traces
of you on my fingertips.

to me, you are also the color blue,
cerulean like the ocean. as i swim
in your layered shades, i find an
oddity of sea creatures with their
warbled calls, colorful frills. i find
your decayed shipwrecks with salt,
wooden holes and tattered white flags,
riddled with lichen, coral; your ships
are still alive, a sight for my eyes. i am
a sailor, widowed from a scarred life
where i was tossed around, battered
with bruises and rainwater streaming
from the sky into the cuts on my hands
as i gaze at you, my ocean, and yearn
to be taken under your waves, over and
over again. when my head slips under
your surface, i don’t plan on returning
for air. i’ll learn to breathe you in and out,
memorize your tides, currents, warm, cold.
you’re something i’ll never tire of exploring.