A pink-haired wallflower, I’m melted salmon, and that is all some are allowed to see. But you have noticed me- everyday, at least once. A gentle discovery pricked by your delicate fingers- you can never make me bleed- my rosy bubbles refuse to burst. Flushed flames burn brighter, this feeling wouldn’t ever tire. For it rages much too strong, a sensational sweet burn. Shell-pink tulips stretching towards the sky, a soft warmth among the clouds. You’re like a fairy drenching the sweet air around me with a deep breath of an illuminating sunset fleeting into the ocean. To all these fuscia moments we have shared, in your ballet slipper apparel, my rouge predilection, your hot pink vision, the primrose blush on my cheeks. Magenta glitter shining vibrantly- your grace in billowed crepe petals. Whatever we are, I want this bouquet to be infectious, to automatically surround me, you, and all the others we hold true to their claims. The hues of consistent rose in those that surround us and give growth to the contentment and cheerfulness we share. We ought to be drinking pink champagne every day, to celebrate the faded coral blossoms of our clan. Pink never was my favorite color, but with your presence, I will hold it eternally dear- decorating the floor with luminous rosewood ideas, rooms blossoming, pollen dripping from our being. I definitely only have pink feelings.
