Love is… (a work in progress)

Love is a wonderful colour, The Icicle Works

Don’t ask me to define it,
That’s beyond
My meagre abilities with words, but
I can remember when
It set a match to my dry wood,
Surrounded me with light and heat,
Replaced my silence with a talkie,
My monochrome print
With glorious technicolor.
Remember when I’d willingly
Thrust my hand into naked flame,
Walk five hundred miles
In the rain, bear any discomfort,
If only my love would notice,
When just a glimpse
Would fuel me for the day.
I remember it well,
Those days I’d willingly drown
In its sea, distant now,
Rustier than unlifted rails on a closed line,
Cold ashes waiting for brush or tide
To sweep them away,
I remember it, miss it,
Miss the heat,
Miss the light,
Miss the colours…
Just don’t ask me to define it.

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