Rose

Fuschia hardwood floors, blushing sliding doors,

Furniture; striped with wooden drawers, coloured rose pompadour.

Tv screens of pale pink faces, comforting friends in coral suits;

Words of hope, words of assurance, words of wisdom that seduce.

Outdoors; what lies behind my contact lenses, curtain, window frame,

Cerulean sky, emerald grass, and shining sun of yellow flame.

A champagne sparkle through the crack,

A rose promise of truth, I rise, the curtains pull back.

And as I raise my eyes to look, the lens shatters, I cannot see.

Rose coloured contact lenses don’t protect you from the sun.