My love for you is colourful
red and bright against
this world
of black and white,
this world
in its many hues
of grey

There is no colour in our world
because we make our own
when I touch your hand
the grey walls seep
with saturated red and blue
like paint, soaked through
paper,
and we pigment our
surroundings until
there is
no more grey

But oh, my dear,
is it a blessing or a curse
that only you and I
can see the colours
that only you and I
dance in a world
of vivid Technicolour
and everyone else
sees only what they
expect to see –
black and white
and grey?