Potential friend
Blonde, slim, like summer weather, I am by
The computer desk in the library
black beading: something ruffled my feathers
her tired brown hair; Miss Ordinary
bursting light bulbs in Catherine Kidson
chasms scream perfect lines begin to swing
when something coal brushed whispers Diane, stop!
That was poetry…
Diane Tingley : Poetry is pleasure: don’t let them have it all for themselves; reach out your hand… (I blog at Deardot.com)