I want to paint 

the silence of a butterfly wing flapping in the darkness of a Thursday evening, the shine of Mr Davidson’s apple, waiting there on his dusty desk, a kicking kangaroo waiting in the darkness of a cave in the middle of the forest, a determined daffodil break-dancing in the middle of the deep dark ocean.

I want to paint a vicious viper snake that slithers along with you everywhere, a baby bird facing its first steps into the outside world, a lazy sloth in a luscious and delicate tree, a square of flats as shiny as robots eyes.

I want to paint a mischievous magpie that takes every thing in sight. I want to paint the smell of a BBQ outside in my back garden. I want to paint the sound of paper crackling on a fire on bonfire night. I want to paint the memory of Nanna Sally’s picture frame in her window with our smiling faces in it. I want to paint the impossibility of time ticking sideways. I want to paint the distance between now and my future. 

I want to paint the end of this poem