When blues meet greens

 

A sheath of blues
the kind his quiet eyes carry
settles over the sky,
soft and slow.

Below, the greens wait
still, unwritten,
like something about to be felt.

Then heaven falls,
spilling nectar,
and the sky remembers
what it’s like to feel.

Numbers blur.
Pink slips into the room
on walls,
on breath,
on everything unsaid.

Then thunder.
Stillness.
Eyes meet.

Like the world stepped back
to let the moment breathe.

And in that quiet chaos,
something begins
the feel
when blue meets green.





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