Yellow scent of the sun

He said to me, you feel things.

Like really, feel them.

Like the yellow scent of the sun is brimming behind your eyes,

and the whiff of blue coming off that person’s hair

is off dancing with your own.

By now, they are entangled in some darling love affair.

He saw how their smile turned my cheeks pink

and my brown eyes sparkled just so

when that little human walked by with ruby painted toes.

I see it, he said. You feel things.

With this emphasis on feel

Capital F

Underline, bold, italicize,

Feel.

Like the green of the trees sing for you as you walk

and the blue torn up couch lingers on your skin

well after you have stopped sitting on it.

You feel things, he said.

Like the purple haze of your brain

would not be able to contain

any more emotion

any more sadness

or joy.

You are already bursting

with such color

with shimmer

and what to him, felt like sweet summer.

Oh, you feel things, he said,

like really, actually, truly feel them.

And for a moment, I slowed,

head in a magenta frenzy,

wondering,

pondering in deep red,

why it would be so peculiar,

dare I say magical,

that I was Feeling this life so differently,

that he felt it necessary to tell me,

that he felt it necessary to declare that it was unique.