She surrounds herself in pinks;
figuring out a fuchsia life, she's afraid
of anything except rosy reds,
and happy to fly on broken wings.
He colors his days blue.
Sky-blue, periwinkle, oceanic,
shying away from the grey
clouds battling his cobalt.
He wants to smash the glass,
and paint her a clear blue sky
but she drinks that stuff by the bottle.