when you ask me if I'm bored
of listening to your terrible stories,
it makes me think about
what boredom means to me
and why it’s beauty that I find
in apparent mundanity.

you color my life in every tone of grey -
in a nourishing and poetic, underrated way.
GREY - the soul of every color in the world;
Invisible and aligned - right between extremes -
like all well designed things are known to be.

Or maybe because grey
feels like routine,
and you’re the everyday
that's to come and that has been.

you're where I set my bar for normal;
you're my Sunday night pajama informal.

You’re my common sense, and my reality check,
my perspective lens, my goodnight peck.
and even your grim phone voice
and plot less stories on sleepless nights
are part of the palette  I've come to adore,
painting magic in monochrome.

Every day she goes out
Putting on her red coat
She gets her things together
Heads outside and starts her day

Woman in the red coat

She visits her favorite café
Slowly sipping her coffee
Thinking about her day

Woman in the red coat

As she finishes her coffee
She gets ready to leave
Putting her coat on
Packing up her things

Woman in the red coat

She has had the coat for years
It came with her to a new land
When she wears it it feels like an old friend
Red is a favorite color of her
In a way the coat helps define her

Woman in the red coat

Long legs in soiled white socks
Upturned swans, fear of floorboards
Soars by the swings it isn't her wings
Body which flee before my breathing

What I say, don't know, it's a shock
To my heart, it's a different way to crack
Those shells of cocoon, which I keep
For you, for a reason I cannot rip

Later I walk with you, no more me
I may have wings, I may have your craze
Do not judge, if I fly and gaze
At you in the sky with all your grace

And, do not call me, I never come
To a ground where my past rests
Where my isolated shells ****
And I can't trust a man who's on earth