The One in Yellow
The way she walked, through humid parkway
To the barren threshold of higher thought
As I sit here calm, in conditioned air
Staring at her sun kissed face through a wall of glass
A tunic of over-washed yellow
A goldenrod hue, as it hung loosely on her caramel skin
She wore shorts-too short- of a faded denim
That cried for summer past, and gave up bronzed thighs
I only wonder at her motives-
I can only guess her name, lost in far off eyes
That my decrepit vision sees as blurred hazel-
But she is beautiful, if only surface matters.
On the other side of this granite fortress
The sun shines and hides, then peaks and leaves
The air is hot, and sticks to those who wade
But none of them matter. I am drawn to the one in yellow.
