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Her Day

Weaving my way

Through a throng,

I spied emerald eyes

dark and somber

as a July

Thunderstorm,

her day dripped

sadness around

crimson heels

in tiny rivulets

of espresso and cream,

Staining her Burberry

skirt along its seams.

Lifting her hand to

her lips, *******

gingerly at manicured

fingertips.

She watched the

train pull away.

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Written by

alexander-doss

48 / M / American

Published: Nov 23, 2010
LinesWords: 2056

Notes: I welcome your feedback.

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