Palette

Lady with palette of
elaborate tastes
colour my hours with your shade.
Your hair scattered like words
by the shore
and all the letters come rushing in
like pieces of crooked giants
crumbling at your feet.
And I, with my legs of clay
wait for the waves to simmer
like the storm in your teacup
as you close your lips
to wish the summer away.
And inching closer
to the cold taking over
I try and write a poem
for your eyes.
When I’d rather be
kissing you
hiding behind an old couch
by the window
of your crumbling house.