On him, the green would only accent the look in his eyes
the smile playing on his lips
the waves behind

but on you, the green looks almost
unfortunate.
like ivy against your collar, an itch draped across your back
or snakes

charging past the folds of your hands
and the slope on your shoulder
spinning off into the atmosphere
undeterred.

Like a painting half done and water colored
with the senses dislodged
excluding the measured fear trilling away
-hands erratic against the steering wheel

but you still love it anyways.

full bloom in the backseat
with dynamites laying on the floor
explosions
no-
flowers.
pink, purple and white with skins smooth and unwrinkled
slightly bruised, and smelling sweetly of june.

Making me ponder over the fact
the maybe
the if
on whether he'd fit into your skin and grow the same grin

and would I still love him if he turned into you?
as the cowardly lion caged inside the fearless heart
so very hard to tell apart?

but the rain is quilting us in
crystals chiming against my ragged breath
calling for the sirens parked half a street
no-
oceans away.
with us skidding, slipping
across this freeway of deceit
and anchored only with the thrill
fastened against your revolutionary mind.

ambience a flow and quiet
as the song pitter patters on the radio.

and you take a left.