A man is his colours - memory-hued;
as the picked cherry red of scabbed-up skin,
the stinging amber kindling whiskey nude,
the yellow buttercup under the chin;
the tender green in tiny buds in spring,
the two-tone navy of the ocean wide,
the plum-wine purple of sick, discrowned king,
the cradling brown arms of loving boy or bride.
Thus a man is painted, rug and ceiling,
in gilded emotion as if embossed -
His soul is bolder for gaudy feeling;
his heart is art for having loved and lost.
The stale grey-scale world would have him duller -
Paint the town: love him in technicolour.
If you liked "Peafowl" and would like to read more Bird Sonnets, you can find them all on Instagram at @birdsonnets.
