Oh I could taste the colours,
hear your thoughts and trail
my fingers through the clouds.
The air fecund with sound,
a symphony of harmonious odours.

Now, they have lost their flavour,
silence where there was once an eternal dialogue.
The skies bereft of depth.
Sequestered aromas whittle
a threadbare tune without accompaniment.

Tomorrow, colours will be but colours,
thoughts a mere dictated fiction,
the heavens a ceiling,
the melody of scent reduced to a single key
in a single bar
on a single page
never to be played.