of sugar
into my tea, she brings
a warm
biscuit
on a plate.
she is the perfect picture
of civility.
the doily on the table,
that white
lamp
against the blue
wall where a picture
of the sea
shines bright.
her books are aligned
by color.
no dust is found upon
a finger.
she is not the wild girl
i once knew
so many years ago.
she has at last found peace
without a lover.
No comments:
Post a Comment