The grass is so unfair, blemishing the earth with shades of antipsychotic and anesthetic green. I long instead for flowers. Flowers mailing a parcel at the post office. Flowers mending my broken spirit. Flowers mining the sun for smiles. Purple flowers purr fancifully. Pink flowers harvest at the vineyard. And yellow flowers! Oh yellow! Toying with my tresses and my head, leading me down alleys of lust.
Miniature Moon 