A palette so buxom.

I choke on the array of undertone.

What my soul would not give for the simplicity of

black on white.

White on black.

With neutral, often lacking emotional fact.

So anxious,

burning beds of red.

Cobalt rages on the river.

I’ve never adept at marrying the swirl of…enigmatic givers.

But, alas, even if there were a blueprint of time.

In the middle, I would be left standing.

Attempting ratification of contrast.

Crippled by the ambiguity of colors that fade too fast.

 

 

 

 

 

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