It's raining and the sky is white
The green in my garden is being drenched and I'm aching to get a little deeper.
This is summer,
the very word a saturated orange,
we should call it something else where we live.
The Intermittent Season,
or
The Season that Starts Conversation.
Your eyes are brown.
Tonight after we eat I'm looking forward to the red of your fire.
But sleep will come black,
through the comfort of night,
but that's just the license of my PC,
I sleep best,
in the unconscious late afternoon,
in the blue of my own room
