Calla lends herself to lyric,
Flowing lines sync; visual rhyme.
You and me, our whining’s, not so much.
She exist in pastel syllables,
Cello bliss, dabs from the sacred palette;
Copyrighted; forbidden to us, by ourselves.
Deprived, we paint only you and me:
Gray lamentations, stark primary tints;
Decrying fate in strident sketches
Of perceived losses and longings.
Satiation, our illusive deity;
Calla, complete, an ignored embrace.
Lovely. You’ve captured this well, Leo, and it’s one of those poems that the more I read it, the more I like it. Great to see some work from you again!
Hi, Anne! Thanks for reading. Hope your doing well and writing. Like you, I’ve been “laying low” blogging wise, taking a look at where I’ve been and where I want to go, poetry wise. As if we really had that choice to make I do what I am told to do by that old muse lady who can at times be cruel! Leo
Very Good/ & Thanx
Thanks for visiting & reading. Leo
Belated Words 
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