Chromophore

Dear one, its a still humid night
my hair clings to the back of my neck
until an errant breeze momentarily cools
my skin and I think of you propped in your netted
bed, your carmine-tipped hands fluttering over a
canvas or penning a letter of love to your man
with green-gold eyes. Your pitted, scarred body
wrought with pain but you offered yourself fully,
unselfconciously and he saw only the strong
woman you are, the steel that encases your moist
beating heart that is his. Despite the ache
of bone and muscle, your spirit moves light,
color, space. You are the miracle, the horizon,
the landscape of all desire.

My Diego:
Mirror of the night
Your eyes green swords inside my flesh. waves between our hands.
All of you in a space full of sounds — in the shade and in the light. You were called AUXOCHROME the one who captures color. I CHROMOPHORE — the one who gives color.
You are all the combinations of numbers. life. My wish is to understand lines form shades movement. You fulfill and I receive. Your word travels the entirety of space and reaches my cells which are my stars then goes to yours which are my light. 

***

Image and quote via Brainpickings.

Prompt via NaPoWriMo.net: Write a poem in the form of a letter to a person, place, or thing, or in the form of a back-and-forth correspondence.