Blue seeks boudoirs to beleaguer:
today, in one, it found the loveliest
mulberry-colored easy chair upon
which, backwards, it could drape its
azure indolence, turquoise despair:
it likes the way this boudoir’s filmy
pastel curtains frame its pestilence:
waits for sweethearts to return so
it can make them spurn each other:
loves pretty rooms to spread
a gloomy view. Wouldn’t you?
.
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