48

You say colour, and I retreat.
To the greys and the blacks and whites that lully me to sleep.

Colour, you repeat.
And something cuts through me, warm and deep.

Red is the colour of heat.
Is the colour I see on the flush of your cheeks.

With every colour you say don't be scared, this is it.
And I understand, finally, what it's like when the canvas is complete.