Watercolor
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she was like watercolor.
no.
She was watercolor.
her bright red smile would slip through my fingers just as it came,
76 MPH down I-85.
The tires rolling underneath
make me think of a galloping horse.
For five hours, I watch the scenery change
Towering city to
Abandoned town to
Blazing tree tops.
Yield not sincere vulnerability
Like the thorns on a rose doth separate
Underneath lies thine past adversity
Still the petals will fall for ‘tis their fate
And expose the beautiful irony,
