Awful. Nice. Can't. Colours

I must say
you're an awful good hider of word-keeping
awful good person to have fallen for, and then raise an eyebrow to
awful good person to be a sucker for
what an awful choice of mine
and what a good opportunity for you to slip

I must say
it's an awful nice day to be sitting with tables and loves
it's an awful nice day to watch your mouth curve at the sight of me
it's an awful nice day to discover the stubborn connections
what an awful thing to observe
and what a nice thing of you to dwell on

Perhaps then
we could step back a pace or two
we could retrace to those lost winter nights
we could turn time's hands, cracking those bones and world records
too bad we could've
too bad we can't

Perhaps then
we could call it a golden day
we could call it a blue suit to stand through
we could call it a red eye, the light to close to reality
the colours won't change
and neither can it change for me