I plucked a golden flower from your garden
and tucked it behind my ear.
But the room was the full of people that night
and no one heard me laughing.
Sadness came and nuzzled hungry at my heart.
So I let her suckle there until she was pacified.
And now she thinks I am her mother.
My sand-paper scraped soul tries to explain its state.
But the words have all come and gone with the stripping.
If you are patient, maybe the color of my new paint
will tell you what you need to know about me.… Read the rest!