Imagine a blood red sky,
Adorned with the golden specks of a setting sun’s ray.
Imagine clumps of wet sand
Dripping the blackest of inks.
An overripe peach,
Dipped in a faded, white cream.
An expanse of deep blue waters,
Overshadowed by rusty, clay cliffs.
The earthy, green tones of old, rotting woods,
Overrun, bruised by a wild, forest fire.
A pearly, wool sweater,
Shot through with electric teal.
Lilac, wisteria, lavender and bronze,
Framed against honeycomb, pomegranate, mustard and plume.
You think there’s no way that he could ever suit me,
But aren’t contrasts the very epitome of nature’s beauty?