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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