❝
What does moonlight taste like?
A creamy scent, the foam melting at the warmth of your lips,
Or the smokey mist, puffed up the tyke?
The blue bruises, whitewashed knuckles, red on your fingertips.

What does purple feel like?
My pale heart beating my cheeks against satin,
The clinging of the vending machine, smelling the soda childlike,
Or your bubbly rage underneath your words condescending?

What does love smell like?
The collection of Christmas Carols, jingling a family's fondness in my ears,
your trivial transitions, glittering ghostlike,
Or your self-esteem staying on the lower end of the spectrum, my existence singing the cheers?

What does colour sound like?
The vintage montage of crashing waves upon the salted wounds,
The shades of grey that burn the feathers of shrike,
Or the longing to seal you in my embrace of permanent impound?

What does Lise look like?
Like all fine things, wild and free,
Like a goldfish, trapped in the ocean of sanity, in the bowl full of the baltic sea,
Like the chirping of the Ferris wheel,
Or like a friend, who'd mourn my decease.

Like the warrior who'd embellish my blood on their dagger,
Like the Emperor who'd blind my foes with my ashes,
Like the child who'd sing my rhymes choking and gagger,
Like the friend who'd listen to my voice in a sea-shell, as the wave crashes.
❞

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

This poem is about my friend cloudysundaes They wrote an acrostic poem for me. They and I have a relationship in which I wish the fleeting moment lasts forever. I know I can't write well like you, but you can't stop a woman from trying.

Thanks for being a great reason why I am glad I didn't die.

I love you even if you don't.