Photo by Christina Deravedisian on Unsplash

under anesthesia,

amid all my amnesia,

i dream of tasting colors

in a world of synesthesia.

red looks like sandstone

as it rusts — from marigold

to crimson, merlot brick.

orange is apricot marmalade

and tangerine cider —

spiced and fireside.

beneath the medicinal spell,

i am four years old again and

my fingertips are stained from

the amaranthine of blueberries.

boysenberries. mulberries.

the more i mull over grape

jam, the less purple

— more blue —

i feel.



Alayna Doyal

writer | editor | poet | all things personal development ↠