The orange light of an incandescent lamp
has lit the surface of the wall. The door
is open to the sky, the smell of the swamp
turns purple in my nose. She has adored
me since the start, since the maroon and violet
birth composed me. I remember what she wore
when she disclosed herself, the colored palette
with pinks and tans. How she moved was an obscene
dance, a vulgar and voluptuous ballet
that brings forth decadence. The lamp held green
light out, painted the breast of the soft tramp
and gave her to the lover. Sets of phonemes
made up her names, the grass remained damp
with dawn and I finally turned out the lamp.
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