Counting the blue ones
that blossom in the
cusp of November and
December.

I think of the sky
and the winter
white.

Are the colors
of tears clutter
my world in the it's
tragic times?

Or are the blue
a kiss of heaven,
but a sense of
remorse?

I gather the bouquet
as the bounty
clumps into a sum.

And the crimson
tulips plucker their
petals in ruby lips.

With blushing cheeks
I lean forward
in expectation.

Only to find the critic
sting as words stab
with sharp teeth.

11/26/2009

Posted on 11/26/2009
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