He only paints in the colours of bruises
because all that's real to him is pain,
so the sky is the purplish blue you get from a swift blow.
Night is the grey black of a blackened eye;
earth is the yellow brown of fading contusions,
and the irises he paints for his lover
are the peculiar purple you get with blood beneath the skin
for inside of him rests a soul beaten black and blue,
and his artwork constitutes a cry for help
that no one can see because it's just so pretty.