The Taste of Colors

I keep forgetting the taste of colors.

The deep brown of your eyes,

Waiting-

The cold green dots in my phone,

Blinking-

The vermillion on my mother's hair,

Fading-

I only remember greys now.

Sometimes a shade darker,

Sometimes a shade lighter.

The ashes of my first poems to You,

Grey-

The color of my mother's hair,

Grey-

The dots on my phone,

Grey-

The world I dream and build

And the tomorrow I think of

Stripes of greys and whites;

Marching on and on.

Till they blend completely

Into the darkness.