She lived in a world of turquoise.
Her eyes were lined with blue.
Her thoughts,
they were like sunshine.
Laced with golden dew.
Days flew by like summer
and the cigarette ashes on her floor.
Scattered the pages of her art,
by her unlit fireplace
and out through the door.
Her bare feet
in my palms.
So elegant and so cold.
The subtle bruises on her back,
like several stories,
untold.
Familiar melancholy in her smile,
like her then came only few.
After all,
she lived in a world of turquoise.
Her eyes were lined with blue.