Orange

I never much liked the colour orange
It was so often at the edge of things
Not so passionate as the deep reds
Nor so calm and fluid as blue can be

Wrong I was about the colour of embers
Through sparkled eyes and powerful accent
Mind of youthful knowledge that lights the world
I may be blinded by such brightness of heart

I feel my colour may never match yours
A green forest may burn and wither
Your fires dominating it forever
You could take my colour and I would let you

Maybe you only want to burn me for a while
And if your fingers run I might just let you
Rigid and bright yet slender and smooth
You are orange and you are in my eyes

Barry tells me about some of his adventures. “Oh, one of my very first actually, girl was about 25, 30 years of age. She had at least a dozen nasties in her, and it took me hours and hours and hours to deliver her, and I was wearing a crucifix and all of a sudden this hand came out and grabbed it…she was a big kid, fairly heavy girl, and she just grabbed at this and tried to rip it off my throat.”