Portrait Of A Lady

Who has come but will not touch the bloom. That is rubbed and questioned in adjacent rooms. And deep the conversation slips beneath the waves. Among the valleys high and peaks so low. Being ever careful, caught in fishing nets. Mingled with the petals are remote controls. Variations of Vibrations, shaking it begins. Do you know how much they mean to her. Her smile becomes a grin. Picking up the phone she calls her friend. And he asks how instead of always why? How rare and why it is, to find out how. In a life arranged so much around, so much around of odds and pointed ends. You know I do not love it and but how you knew? The moon I see but I was blind to that. What I heard you say, on the phone that you are not that blind! How keen you were to let me know I am. To find a friend like you who has it all. Who has a friend like me and gave it all away.