You used to say the
Greys and golds and blues were like pictures of space, like a glimpse into a supernova or
The tranquil, incredible burning of the milky way, reeling away in my sockets
Just as it all did in little Krishna's mouth. I give you that, my universe,
And you learn every constellation and colour it creates, mad scholar, astrologer,
Studying me passionately. And I always thought my eyes were the colour of nothing.
I loved that you realised nothing was the colour of the cosmos.