First Drafts - An Ensemble

| 10 | In Shades of Emerald and Sapphire.

you come home drunk.

not on wine or on spirit,

but on him.

and you know the colours

before you even sit down to paint.

the grass beneath your bodies

is a vibrant shade

(of B274 Emerald Green).

it's a windy september morning

and you lay sprawled; tangled and free.

him,

with his dark jacket

hiding a restless soul underneath-

out of place in a field of flowers.

yet you,

with your loose flannels

and a quivering heart,

fit right in.

there's a murky pond nearby

(you paint it in D46 Viridian Green Light).

the lilied waters ripple and lull,

but neither of you pay attention.

instead you talk and you laugh,

and he takes your hand in his.

his thumb brushes a ring around your little finger

and he looks at you, quizzical.

it was a gift from your sister, you tell him.

the ring is all but a fading silver band

with a stone embedded within,

(D47 Viridian Green Deep)

and it glimmers still.

now it is noon, and the sun is high.

your feet are in the water

and he lies nearby,

weaving you a crown of daisies

the colour of A4 Opaque White.

with a proud flourish,

he presents it to you

and although it's nothing but a dainty little thing

bound to come apart by the end of the night,

made of wildflowers and slim blades of grass,

you place it over your head.

Your fingers are careful, delicate-

like the crown were made of diamonds instead.

he moves close then,

and you catch a whiff of his scent-

lemongrass, as always

(he knows you adore it).

he gazes skywards, and his eyes are soft-

their colour as if it were stolen for him alone

from the fabric of the heavens above

(B259 Old Holland Blue Grey-

watered down just enough).

part of what he's made of

always wishes to return to the skies,

and he yearns.

hours pass;

the sun sets over the horizon

and a minute later,

a bluebird lands on the edge of the pond.

you both stay very, very still,

simply watching.

(she is a brilliant B265 Turquoise Blue Deep).

she chirps and flutters and flits

and is gone the next moment.

you bid her goodbye

and you secretly hope she wishes you well too.

evening arrives then, through a net of twinkling stars,

dressed in a shimmering C232 Caribbean Blue.

you light a candle to ward away the night,

and he laughs

but he never stops you.

there is silence now, perfect and profound.

seconds tick by, and suddenly he sits up.

the colours shift with him.

he lights a cigarette,

with the flame of your candle,

and he says,

"give away the end, victor."

you breathe out when he says your name,

and he turns to look at you.

"give away the end. Tell me we make it."

his eyes are no longer soft.

"tell me it's us."

so you do.

and when you go home drunk in the night,

you paint him this picture.