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.