yellow vases shan't hold Montmartre coffee nor goldilocks no more,
brilliant sunshine wrapped around thy hair, unmoving in this unending fall.
yellow paint and quivering ink-eating, masking something for sure:
just make this bread, add spicy Dijon must-dust for show.
eat it all up, absinthe's place in your heart and soul,
toxic waste in your yellowish carnation, oozing out lemon holes.
will he really swallow the missing piece of his own (...)?
was he really the type to ponder & slaughter the only thing that he truly owned?