She steps out,
Her pea coat peppered in cigarette ashes
Her eyes contain a mystery concealed by her dark revlon lashes
Her crimson heart shaped painted lips aren't enough to distract me from her blue sequin dress, Tightly draped to shape her perfect Pocahontas hips
God bless her sole,
It was too cold for peep toe pumps but venerating value was her goal
I felt foolish handing her flowers,
For when holding them next to her they lost all their vivid surrealism
"They're wild flowers",
I told her,
"California Bluebells"