A Synesthete's Love Letter

your eyes are like fridays,
they're light and like shallow pools
that i can disrupt with the tip of my hand
fridays bend and swirl with the excitement
of tan saturdays that link arms with
white sundays and walk away from the week

when you say my name i hear
a shade of fuchsia push through your lips
and curdle in my hands.
i've never liked my name
because a and m are red, you know
but y is orange and those colours
don't mix well
and neither do i

when you breathe next to me
i can see grey ash float through the air
as if someone is perpetually tapping
their cigarettes over us.

but when you moan it's more than ash

it's the equivalent of
mount vesuvius erupting
the angry sky
meeting the ocean
a surge of blue cloaks my skin
and you make it so easy
to lay back and dream of water

although ambulances screech out
raging red javelins
and the sound of guns shooting
makes me feel that the sky is falling
i know that together
we can find the errors in this place
and smooth them out with our hands

because
holding your hand in mine
i feel that i could
cry turquoise circles and
laugh electric spikes

and
i believe that you and i,
are the greatest shade of yellow love
that the world will ever see