Ask for a world in which
the white recedes and colour
bleeds back in. You can feel a
hand again as it softly strokes
your hair – and you know it’s your own.
Nothing takes you from pain like
its own promise. And where is promise?

Ask for a primrose world, one that means
something beautiful but you don’t know what
it means. You can walk
in its colour, softly, all day and that
will do for when the white comes back, thinking
of taking you. You can’t feel your hand
again but you know it will return when
the colour bleeds back in.

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