And how, I wonder
Did she know
The blues-
And purples-
In the sky;
The colors
Dripping
Down
The silvered canvas
As I turned my back to run?
In her black
Amid white linen
Opening her eyes
And thinking:
When he comes,
Will I know to smile
When I see
The whites of his eyes?
Or will that have been too late?
Pale, lavender questions
At night.
Sometimes I wish
She was not alone.
Sometimes
She wishes
She was. |
Submission Name: Lonely (Not For Me)
