Phileo

As cliche as it sounds,
the night was full of colors.
Coffee black and old-cement ivory,
firework red
and sweatshirt gray.
His eyes were sincerity brown.
How toenails were "pleased-to-please pink"...

the same color of her cheeks as she started hyperventilating.

Sometimes being a bystander
has its advantages,
like seeing you with varnish off
and seeing them care.

The night sky was a dirty blue,
tinged over the hills with unnatural orange
from the far-off downtown lights.

There's lots of different types of love,
and I think I've experienced most of them
in some way or another,
but one seems to elude me
no matter how much I try
to wrap my metaphorical fingers around it:

Phileo.