These hinges by doors knocking quiet thud
Tangerine, Mauve, Purple dado rail
Spreading a coloured limb on glasses shut
Is this the house, a pale grey Holy Grail.

Windows, art these the windows there to see?
Coal tar, sandy blasts, now a strange Yellow
Stepping on tiling, ‘tis my Geometry
Circles to discs, rings - your metallic blow.

Blue skies in my room, her transparent paint
A pestilence wetting my bedside so
I follow softly behind your Brown lace
Neon Crimson clink - now hindsight goes.

Grange his Heathcliff he keeps; mine a Grey shout
Looking, looking, nightly her tinsels sprout.


© Ananya