January is black and brown, a suggestion of the brightness to come

February is white and creamy, sprinkled with snow and the whispers of a breeze

March is yellow, burnt mustard and orange cheese, reaching up towards April

April is cherries and peaches, curved with crescents and flaming with oranges

May is daffodils and daisies, crammed between April and June like a lost puppy

June is green and bursting, crunchy celery and the blue-green of marvel and sea-glass

July is pink sunshine, heart-racing emotions and stretched out like bubblegum, plucked into the sky (away, away)

August is blue, dipping like a plastic slide and flecked with orange cinders

September is green with spring and ebony with crumbling leaves

October is the orange of sweet, rotten pumpkins and the mud beneath my soul-stomping boots

November is the rain that hits the dry grass, a bittersweetness in the heavy air and clawed apple cheeks

December is the purple of the stars and the black of the night, winter before its fame as it dips down to January,

And it is all black and white, and blood soaked with guilt.

See you in my dreams, where we'll walk the colours of 365.