My Window Facing East

Standing still, eyes planted on the framed piece before me. Canary yellow, alive like a dandelion takes me back to the two room house on Spaghetti Hill. Red, as deep as blood that flows through our veins, streaks of grey like paved sidewalk that fly past your window on an afternoon drive. Cream like a thick cashmere sweater, All swim together like a school of fish in the sea, to paint the moment our sun leaves our sight to sleep once more. Till dawn when we meet again.