The girl sitting next to me
Is not a girl but a woman.
She reminds me of my Mother.
Shear dress: white dogwood dancing with sapphire swells.
Coffee boots to hide her indiscretions.
She is a crowded palette,
She is a Pollock and a Degas.
Full of cries and tries and purple sighs.
I don't think she has ever noticed me.
Labels: Poetry
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