One end of my paintbrush
is dipped in permanent golden.
The other changing colour
at every touch, electric.

One end burns in blinding light.
The other scribbling furiously
black stories multi-coloured.

From multicolour oozes multicolour
building strong-looking prison gates
one trapping the other
reeking fear of defected substance,
grasping the few moments before
my thirst swallows oceans of its lover
and flies across empty skies,
leaving footprints on the way
to mark the only story
that ever was.