perhaps i am just sailing

on a breeze

hinted with the scent

of gypsy rose.



perhaps i am painting

an insolent masterpiece for you:

reds in all the wrong places

and smeared with misconceptions.



i have noticed that the gentleman is, still that.

giving me the cold cordial shoulder.



he looks at the blame,

sees it with a crimson tint

of the illusion of my shed blood.



but perhaps i am just sauntering

through patches of yellow sunny rainfall:

feeling slightly cleansed and refreshed,

but drenched to the bone

with his awful impressions

and weighed down by his obvious distaste.



Yet, perhaps i am only sailing

above

on a gypsy rose breeze.

01/25/2006

Posted on 03/07/2010
Copyright © 2025 Kim Thevenot