Phrases flock in a blue pocket book
trailing the rushed rhythm of painted feet
words walk past the morning light
boarding a train too slow a match
for the beast, the beating heart
stilled solely by ink-stained verse
rising from its paper fold, like butterflies
across the blue soaked sky.
You could blame it on the Shibori pants I slipped into this morning and the brown boots of yore waiting for true winter chill, but my head is all royal and earthy now. For a fix I lost myself in all sorts of brown and blue and now that I’ve resurfaced there seemed to be much good in sharing some treats.
There’s something about a hint of blue peeking in from behind an old cupboard or on an iron fence.
This is the color the walls have been missing. And I dare say stories read better in a cozy blue corner.
Of course you would get the first peek into my boudoir if it ever went royal
You could stay for tea…
…And partake in adventures that began, when brown boots walked out into the winter sun.