She was a picture of monotonous monochrome.
She was deathly quite in one jaunty home.
She lied in wait of eyes that could see through her bleakness.
One who could see the beauty in her , beyond her illusory mess.
People gazed at her and noticed the lack of chroma.
Then a man , destitute of vision , approached and followed her aroma.
He gazed at her with the touch of his finger.
And time stopped as he started to linger.
His gaze took him , in the depths of her beauty.
And she spilled colors and made him sooty.
With no vision he espied her coloration.
and world was hysterical
at their love in
such
excommunication*.