Imagine sending this postcard from someone living/dead/imaginary friend.

Happiness.

It's something universal,
That even the black people enjoy,
They do it in pairs,
Or alone in joy.

It's not strange,
For a black to wear all-white,
And yet the teeth to shine all bright,
Flashed out from a smile that is all too wide.

It's something so simple,
And yet so striking,
It's sweeter than dimple,
And knows no Viking.

It's something we know all too well,
But experience all too little,
It's something we want to dwell,
It's everything we want to meddle.

It is the happiness that knows no color,
It is everything but sour,
It's forever scrumptious to devour,
It's the fruit of our labour,
From me to you,
My dearest lover.

(To my imaginary lover)

Imagine receiving this postcard from someone dead/living/imaginary friend.

My color.

My friend, my beloved, my savior,
You are my endless source of power,
You are my pillars,
You are my tower.

The color you provide,
Amidst the black and white,
With all your might,
It shined all bright.

Alone you were,
And yet never sour,
You thoroughly enjoy,
You were no decoy.

Speaks a thousand words,
This picture here,
Of which I have inserted,
For you to treasure.