My fury is a sterile white -
a sky of constellations lost
in melding with the morning light.
A million vivid hues exhaust
my eyes, but still my vision thrives.
In darkness, I saw nothing wrong.
In daytime, now - the truth arrives.
The words you murmured crawl along
my palm. In bliss, I watch them die.
I feel malicious, mad delight
and laugh, as neither you nor I
will miss the blackness of the night.
