when grey met yellow, it was under tangerine tears

of the weeping sun

he was rarely awake to see the shy sky's kisses grace the earth

lost in dreams of scattered clouds, dragging sighs, and splotched memories

he pried his wilted lashes apart, smacking lips lathered in salt

snow melting under the peony touch of a morning blush

he wishes someone would kiss his cheeks, touch his waist, sear a handprint through the ice sheets of his cracked flesh

but he had no one but the winding white, the stiffness on which he lay

he hoped to suffocate in the fabric of his pillowcase

eyes falling and spilling in lethargic rivers of mauve

he left the purple silence that threatened to drown him

and took to the canary slicked streets, instead hoping

to lose himself in the loving gold embrace

the stretched amaranth and shimmering panels of dripping blood orange

and it was there that he met her

soaked from the top of her liquid almond head, to the curving streaks of her tanned legs

she breathed in marigolds, and hummed out pieces of melodic hearts

wild darkness, endless, relentless symphonies

caramel poured unadulterated from her gaze, an intensity that wound his lungs into the shape of her

he could not give himself away to the resounding thunder beating against his skull when she stood before him

floating a few inches above the ground, with her secret wings, appearing taller than he

for while his shoulders slammed upon his chest, desperate to beat upon his innocent heart

hers easily held up the world, dragging the skies across the ground until the seams of reality had come undone, and everything was color

he'd turned to marble and stone so long ago

he could not remember a time that he'd flushed with thrumming blood

could not remember heated necks, itching skin, stumbling words

nor a voice that danced with the winds, enraptured by the sight that consumed him

utterly and completely

she was yellow

with a big, aster mouth, and round eyes, and baby's breath words

her hands skimmed along his veins, his lips, his lashes, searching for signs of life

she felt him breathe into her palm, desperate for the familiar rush of pounding hearts, of heaving chests

she felt the lightness of his step, yet the dragging of his heels

felt the way he drowned and suffocated within his own bunched skin

saw the scarlet crescents carved into his flesh

the way he sunk, and sunk, crumbling under the force of the world that she loved so dearly

a world he was ever so afraid of

she wore tattered converse scribbled in ink stars, while his insides lay in ruins

her smiles were captured moonbeams, drops of sunlight

and his were monochrome keys of a pleading piano, worn at by time

where he was protruding, she was plush

and where he burned, she could touch

he was frigid, cold, so cold that he could hardly stand the feel of his own body

while she carried embers within her, blazing hearths that warmed her gently

and he always wept when she held him

it had been so long since he had been treated so delicately

she cared for him like his bones were porcelain and his skin were glass

but never with the roiling darkness of pity clouding her eyes

she dragged her scorching warm fingertips over his sharp cheekbones

and pressed her red lips upon the flushed petals

roses bloomed with her touch, her lips, her whispered words

he could not help but to cry when she whispered to him like that

when she found him choking on his pain in the middle of the night

tangled in his limbs, and grasping onto her hands, her skin

pleading with her

he cried and cried when she only held him

held him against her yellow heart and hummed her sweet butterscotch song, weaving her love into a melody

and she would tell him

"my love, my love, hold on to me,"

and she would tug those scarred hands, stained gray and dyed in cobalt tears

find his weary, colorless face, soaked through and water stained

and brush those honey lips across the tender plains of his aching flesh

and leaving splotches and blossoms of canary color in her wake

yellow tulips strung in his ash locks, liquid gold and tones of bronze on his abalone skin

he never felt so beautiful as he felt with her

she turned the air to buzzing magic

turned his pain to rose butterflies

and left him craving her, craving her and the color she brought

gold cheeks, peach lips, butterscotch words, canary flesh, honey touch,

he longed for her

never understanding what she would want, what she could want, from a charcoal heart, withering away

but she claimed he had as much color to give her as she had for him

though he was marred to destruction

scorching screams and broken eyes

she loved him

loved him

loved him

she loved him

with her entire yellow heart

she loved him

and when grey met yellow

his grey heart

turned into watercolor love

and ash cheeks burned red

he awoke to baths of golden light, and touches skittering across his sleeping figure

the smell of coffee nipping at the tip of his nose, and the far off redolence of faded, sleep infused vanilla dizzying him

her sugar hair caught on his poppy skin, woven between his limbs

her butterfly kisses drawling lazily over the ridges of a puffy face, no longer carved into ash

but rather, glowing with the morning

she hummed against his mouth until his lips were plump and crimson

and she breathed pools of honey into the crevices of his collarbones

and she poured fairy lights, dancing stars, and tulips into his weary, grey old chest

and his blood turned to magic

and he found in her

all that he'd ever wished for

when grey met yellow