yellow is a colour that goes nicely over another;
the halo surrounding the saint's head on a
stained glass window;
watery yellow acrylic pressed onto
cream canvas with a soft, wide brush;
yellow-tinted glasses pushed too far
up your nose, that make you see the sky hazily;
sunlight that envelops us all, submerges us all,
makes us warm, makes us precious,
covers what is underneath with the gold it is worth.

heart of gold,
with an old soul,
this kind can never grow cold.

a.b.

i feel like a music box,
only coming alive to your touch,
when you go away,
so do i,
to a place in my mind,
where it's cold and dark,
but there you are again,
with your golden fingers,
lighting me up,
and bringing the song to my lips,
letting me live.

I raced towards the finish line
Your golden trophy my constant drive
When I reached the end
I must confess
Your trophy was a golden lie