Tell me, how is Bombay blue?

It is her hue
That stains the rivers, the earth and sky.
She paints the clouds with her lonesome lullaby.
She left a trail of sapphires in her stride
Like teardrops on concrete that refused to dry.
I thought of her at dawn and the telephone rang.
It sang:

‘Blue- here is a song for you’…
I wish I could have made for you,
Some tea to taste and drink with me.
The mornings are harsh, silent and lonely
As only as lonely knows how to be.

There is loss swirling in the mug before me,
Bitter reminiscing where sweetness should be.