Our love is yellow.
Yellow like the evening sun,
like it’s amber rays that filter through our fingertips,
that gleam off of camera lenses,
and splatter the earth in a shimmering paint.
Our love is yellow,
Yellow like ripe peaches left in the summer heat,
Like drops of butter and honey and marmalade on toast.
The type of yellow that’s warm and sweet.
The type of yellow that’s simple.
Our love is yellow.
Yellow like the sand on the beach of Lake Michigan.
Sticky and hot and annoying.
Stuck in our hair and our toes and on the back of our ears.
It follows us everywhere
and never lets go.
Our love is yellow.
Yellow like the dandelions that grow through cracks in the cement.
Lazily beautiful and fiercely determined.
The type of yellow that makes you stop
and wonder how it got there.
Our love is yellow,
the type of yellow that kings wear;
Subdued in ambrosia, rich in champagne,
Made for divinity,
And forged by fire.
The type of yellow that you wear out and drink up and
can’t get enough of.
Our love is yellow.
Yellow like lemons,
Bitter and sour and strong.
The type of yellow that makes you
squeeze your eyes shut and grimace.
The type of yellow you’re happy to see
when you finally open back up.
Our love is yellow.
Thanks for being yellow with me.
Image “Dandelion on yellow Background” by William Warby is licensed under CC BY 2.0.