it is the colour of rain
pattering against the window frames
as we nestle under gently fading blankets
the sound of his voice
as he reads from a book
of which's name has been long forgotten.
it is the colour of my coffee mug
which he made just right;
black with a dash of blue hair
and two toned eyes.
it is the words in the pit of my stomach.
heavy.
so heavy with the thought of him,
the boy with the blueberry smile
cotton candy lips
and honeydew voice.
YOU ARE READING
Paint By Numbers || Gawsten
Fanfiction"everything's an art form when you're born with the wrong colour palette and shaking hands." in which a coffee addicted poet falls for the blue haired barista. completed. geoff's pov. told in poems. lowercase intended. each part is a different...
