Synaesthesia

How can I mirror your vague-eyed Pre-Raphaelite smile?

Weaving the warp and weft backward and forward

Weaving the weft and warp forward and backward

Staining with startling dyes

All the diaphanous winter is melting

Back from the bones of the Japanese cherry

Now the narcissus is whispering and cringing,

Crystal and chiffon and vicious like Springtime

Moon of the meadows, forgetting the hunter

Lifts on suburbia, lemon and cadmium pale

Starfish and samphire all cambered and charming,

Dashed with the drumming and dripping of summery spray

And the seasons are whirling

And the colours are wheeling

I am the cog in your clockwork and cycle

Risky phlogiston is setting the marshes on fire

*This is actually the lyric to a song I wrote some years ago. Intermittently I still return to it. The music keeps changing slightly but the words always seem to say a fraction of what I want to say about my synaesthesia, the way my senses blend sights and sounds and tastes together. So I've said it. Thanks!