The flowers on my silk dress
run together in the rain
like the finger paints of a child
as he drags his hands across them.
Clearly not Monet’s lilies
but just as beautiful to me,
rain blurs the floral pattern
I fell in love with in the store window.
There’s nothing cohesive or definitive here.
Abstract, like the life I lead,
it’s just a myriad of technicolor swirls
that meander over fabric.