The Girl He Loves

The girl he loves is midnight, like the blue of the sea cradled by the moonlight. The girl he loves is verdant, the very green of the hill kissed by the summer delight. The girl he loves is coral, as pink as the roses that grow in his mother’s garden. The girl he loves is crimson, red like the autumn leaves that lay abandoned.

The girl he loves I can never be.
Because he’s allergic to violets,
and violets are too much like me.