Fade to white, but she's the multi-coloured type of lullaby. How I feel to clutch that vibe? Kinda like how I feel if I touched the sky. So akin to a butterfly, see colous when she flutter by. Trust and I, up out the Chrysalis, christen this the crispest shit son's been scribbling. Written in a rapid riddle like I need Ritalin - coz she got my pen like my pulse, quickening. My impulse petitioning my heart to be positioning itself apart from sense, picking apart parts, partitioning behind a picket fence, until they're picketing like “love and logic are never inter-mingling”. But when I seen her swing her hips I was into mingling, watch the ballerina pirouhette as heads are pivoting...
Oh please, I feel something simmering...
More than tickled pink by her crimson lips, through rose-tinted specs how I suspect I'm invisioning. Her spectrum could be redrum in the mirror son. Pluck, strum hearts strings like plectrums play imminent frets. But never board, she's too riveting. We went from first dates to sitting in sitting rooms consumed in stimulants, her shade exuding an infinite light, akin to the one that the sun through a prism brings. We went from sitting cool to constant quibbling. The fights were cyclical 'til they were almost crippling...
Oh please, I feel, that it's diminishing...
Sometimes she have me going nuts, I'll admit kid. Got me a screw loose like I escaped the prison wing. Out of the blue, true like a bolt how she stricken kid. Screws, nuts and bolts - heart's an engine near giving in. Seeing red – red as a rose is. She had me white as a ghost kid, approach left me black and blue - bruised, no excuse or motive. So I went on the offensive, put so much blue smoke in the air and in her ear, I couldn't justify. Felt green around the gills – when words built up inside, spilled from a once yellow-belly, like a white knuckle ride. If she come in colours, I guess I'm just colour blind. I said “like a butterfly” but she ain't made to catch, so she break my grasp, make a dash. Words I said I could never take 'em back, colour drain from my face, I guess it's fate, fade to black...

I stay on her body like BO. You, me, soul – that's the trio.
All three so – lets grow like a tree grow. But three's a crowd when your proud with an ego.

And they asking why that I love her. I guess it's just primary colours.
But when the trio combine in their numbers. It's always more than Yellow, Cyan, Magenta.