The number five is yellow

There you are, all wide eyes and wild hands

You tell me E’s and V’s are yellow, too—

      well, mustard and marigold,

      you feel the need to clarify

 

Your world must be fridge magnets

Here I am, all wondering and woolgathering

The first chord of your favourite song is yellow—

      a warm and heavy press of the keys

      Hear it, feel it, see it all at once

 

I’m a child, grasping at the link

between the moon and the ocean tides for the first time

You tell me cheesecake is yellow—

      New York, of course

      not the weird ones like tiramisu or passion fruit

 

I won’t claim to understand, but to me

Yellow is the feeling of you when you’re gone,

but it’s another yellow entirely—

      shining brighter when you reappear

      like the sun, if you don’t mind a lazy metaphor