Notes Towards an Unfinished Love Story.

A flicker of sunlight cuts through the curtains. I pull them apart.

Chatting to my neighbour
Across the sunlight dappled wall
About her early roses
While I observe the shadows,

The shadows of the rose trees patterning her face.

I have just today completed
Another grey/black painting,
Not a single primary colour
To cut across the gloom,

No splash of cadmium yellow to split the night from day.

My life is lived in shadow.
My paintings depict shadow.
The shadow of the loneliness
That chills me to the bone,

Chills me every hour you are not painting here beside me.

Colours make our language,
Words are often secondary,
Bland monotones we use
To pass the time of day,

Yet your voice is music to me, a weave of vocal colours
That you spin without a care, my bride with laughing eyes.

My neighbours voice is dull,
Her choice of words monotonous,
Entirely artificial.
Her eyes seem lost in shadow.

Your eyes, they always dazzle. Your kisses sweet as Calvados.

When we sit and paint together
Sunlight dances off our brushes;
The palette that we share
More vivid than summer roses.

Our house will zing with arias when you come back home in June.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
May 20th. - 22nd. - 25th. 2018.