Sky blue is a color I describe, two and one are the numbers she abides by.
Little sighs, a scarlet tune, her eyes are like the pale white moon.
I never would do anything to you, their won’t be an addition past loving two.
Holding you in a space of marble pink, it doesn’t mean I’ve lost the ability to humbly think.
Flowers sprout easier in this growing sunlight, even in the dark, petals glow past a fading night.
Her touch breathes life like the unseen air, colored strands of her distinctive hair.
Dear Lisa do you think I love you?