Le Lady Blue

“Why won’t you love me?” she asked leaning on her pillow. And time squeezed a strange curve deep ochre yellow. I said, “Sorrows are my thing to do, joys are a chore.” She said, “Whatever that means makes no sense, I think you just don’t want to come close.” “Right you are,” I said. “That’s my trick to survive.” The vine grew bizarre, the window shrank left, the picture on the wall slipped and I just wanted to hide.