The roses, being red, had to dance;
almost danced off the edge of page.
The roses, a lush centerfold, gyrated:
the same dance as always, the same
almost imperceptible dance as the
stop signs do on his drive home, or
the cuffs and collar of her housecoat,
discarded, on the bedroom floor.
None of the other colors budged but
the roses, being red, had to dance.
* Not familiar with the basics of synesthesia? There’s a nice (brief) primer (with a great TED video!) and lots more poetry on the subject at the dVerse link, below..
dVerse Poets Pub
Meeting The Bar
~ SYNESTHESIA ~