the room was kind of yellow, but pale
shade of a misty afternoon grey
and dully highlighting your face –

I knew it was you,
by the direction of your palm and one
single eyelash slept upon the floor.

it is the blues being in love some days,
but that day was yellow and grey,
raining and hazing your eyelids over.

I thought it would be more milky –
secrete some special substances you
could taste, sweet and as nice as love

breathing wild: how could this
be okay, not comprehend a difference
of one kiss and one yellowing touch,

yet same somehow, yet the same
the room ate some parts of your head
and I fell in love with it despite that –

yellow and grey, bitter rain, I knew it.