Rhapsodies written in hues--marmalade, violet, the blues,--
Everything everywhere...
No less of an impression that's
Adorned with the innocence you so choose.

Mimicked by your favorite wine, a deep red, magically,--
You masterfully rose from the canvases, beautifully composed...

Loose cotton like rules forgotten,--
Openly confessing as if conclusions were foregone, yet--
Vocalized through your turquoise, lies an
Eighth of life at large, unmistaken.