A palette of words

He asked me to paint a picture with words; then complained that
what I had painted was colourless; all black and white.
Of course, I thought, words are usually black on a white background;
but I suppose to most people painting a picture means using the three basic colours on their palette.
Then I recalled what I was taught at school; all the colours in the rainbow can be made by mixing together two or all of the three.
So, in which one must I write? Red perhaps; about stop lights, danger,
fire and flame; that silk scarf you wore when you came to tell me
you were leaving. Or blue; as I remember the sky domed over the spot
where we first met; then met again and again, so as not ever to be apart.
Yellowed is the page on which is writ the contract we made to stay together until death should take our final breath away.
So you can see why, quite often, my writing is colourless; my palette of
of colours being locked away with my memories.