Whenever that gray light with the blue mood

Poured through my window,

We were never blue, but only sometimes

Tucked up under each other like colorblind fools,

Sweet laughter on our lips came and went

Dancing up into the air currents 

To be shredded to pieces by the blades of my ceiling fan.

We always tried picking up the pieces

With fingers buttered up like pastries

Leaving nothing but crumbs all over the floor.