your eyes were such a
comforting, sweet shade
of blue blue blue

your hands, rough like
feathers held my
pale and white one

and into the picture
perfect scenery of us
I threw an ending

a hundred days passed
letters grew dusty and
the music was over

a grace that I never
could master floated
into your painting

and in my blind rage,
I covered it with a
bright green paint.

12/25/2005

Author's Note: Vancouverite

Posted on 12/26/2005
Copyright © 2026 Barbara Griffith