Synesthesia

A bright cinnamon day
on a Friday in April
she was wearing a dress 
of white lace
she said
you’re an artist
tell me the colour
I feel in the breeze on my face

Her life was cloaked
she couldn’t know mine
I closed my eyes
better to see
it’s soft summer saffron 
I said
and she smiled 
for me

She had the face of a poet
eyes like the night sky
and hair the colour of rain
and I didn’t know then
I would never 
see her again

And while we talked about colours
she took my hand
and our fingers
tangled together 
and I learned from her 
the colour of love
lasts forever

I met a girl, a friend of a friend, she was blind from birth.