Three Colours: Synaesthesia

 

i. Green

cut grass.jpg

 

Grass-cropped, cut for the air,

Clean and stained like rough trouser knees,

Green as bottles. A cut summer smell.

 

 

 

ii. Grey

 

pipe smoke.jpg

 

One pinch of salt for the pipe, a curl

At once gone: but the lingering fingerprint

Of granddad’s pipe, one grainy whorl of ash.

 

 

 

iii. Purple

 

purple roses.jpg

 

The sheets smelt of us: crushed roses.

You held me, dappled, long morning sun:

A pattern for warm sheets, now unvisited.

 

 

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