Yellow I wrote a song for you and called it yellow. stapled it to a blue dream and planted it beneath the seams of a turquoise horizon. I expect it to germinate taint the wind with rose petal'd scents of a spring that would bathe you and I till we crouched Shrivelled beneath the sun naked and ignored. My love is the wing’s span of a weather butterfly It commands the healing powers of the cosmos feeding on the union of instinct and blood mine is the soul's rod prodding the shallows of your rhythm. My goal is to rhyme with the silences between your heart's beat so we can both beat un-paused to the gates of eternity And when we reach death our ghost sound patterns will be heard on cypress hills will be heard in the mire will be heard where boulders are born. our sonic-fied essence will be heard by volcanoes erupting liquid light and with the might of breeze our-post heart beats would ease the fears of fire and evaporate magma to a warm glow... and it shall be called... yellow.