The Color of Cyan

We catch ourselves falling in the rye,
I see a little sparkle in your eye,
The cyan is painted on the wall,
This limited space never feels small.

The room starts to spin.
Startled,
You pull me in.
I put my fingers on your lips,
Then you kiss my finger tips.
Summer diffuses into fall,
The smell of honey is sweeter than I recall.

The clouds are your hair,
I look at your lips,
Should I even dare?

I caress your wispy clouds,
They swirled in their structure and to the sky they bowed.
The birds are to the sky like a crown is bejeweled.
And we take a sip of the sweet nectar juice that we cooled.

This is the color between blue and green,
You fall into my arms — on me you lean.
Standing under the sun,
Our skin continues to tan.
The sky is so bright, the color of cyan.