Patch of Green
I saw her sitting alone
At a corner table
Of a poorly lit inn
Her blouse pink
The color of
Sweet smelling roses
She had no clue
Who else was in the
Tavern and did not care
She was reading
From what looked like a diary
Occasionally taking notes
Infrequently sipping
From a half empty glass
Of sallow wine
Her hair was colored
Gold as shiny as King
Tut’s venerated chair
She looked like a model
Unsuspectingly posing
For a photo shoot
With her cheek bones
Placed high in her face
Her eyes made of jade
When I looked at her
From the far side of the room
A butterfly entered the locale
And softly settled
On the rim of my wineglass
Levitating my heart
On occasion she would
Posture a smile more
Captivating than a Mona Lisa
I stood up slowly
My feet growing colder
As I approached her
Hello, I said
To myself as I
Haughtily fought
My chi and feigned
Indifference as I soberly
Lost course and
Spun toward the exit
Leaving my rose behind
And keeping it my secret
Nobody noticed
As I solemnly walked past
The prophet’s scrawls
On the walls and
Made a point to step
On each crack in the sidewalk
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