Do You Want a Ride
I ran to the gorgeously designed convertible
to see if it was wearing a wrap
“It is original paint,” the owner told me.
He was an artist, covered in paint.
I wanted to go for a ride
She was so beautiful in her fuchsias, yellows and limes.
“She is a delight,” I told him. “like a gorgeous painting.”
“Do you want a ride?” he asked me.
Boy, did I, but I said no.
Pretending to be normal for a change.
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