all the insipid thoughts
slip through
these sarcoline cracks
made to trickle down
and to
through the soils
waiting
for men
to dig them out.

1-hour photo lab: an aged prop:
prompt

One hundred years of solitude: glass city:
yellow be their faithful death:
mikado

She prefers another color
for the bedroom wall:
sarcoline

She's in the spotlight
staged like a warm peach:
Non-Euclidean

'Almost a spy--
looking forward to a bright and wonderful future'
--eternally and everlasting:
amaranth

What do you give the person
who thinks they have it all?
Doubt:
that dull brown stocking to wear on his feet

Over sarcoline sand, I stare,
it is dotted here and there,
fulvous and falu umbrellas impaled,
the smaragdine waves try but fail.

Over and over it tries to stay,
while on the beach the children play,
burned to shades of amaranth pain,
and suddenly cooled by afternoon rain.

My eyes are trapped by the coquelicot,
her bikini color, on her yacht,
I watch and yearn as it cruises by,
a single tear streams from my eye.

But I wipe it away and take a drink,
the chartreuse liquid lets me think,
the taste of citrus, and of salt,
down the beach, my eyes do walk.