The red chair,
It sits idly.
The polished leather,
It smolders a matte cherry,
Enchanting with its lustful glow.
Disrupt the gaze only to admire the lush foliage surrounding it,
The red chair sits among friends and flora,
Static in material,
Dynamic in being.
This is so very often how people appear,
Impossible, out-of-reach uniqueness in every moment.
We cannot know the texture, the feeling,
Each and every memory shared with their comfort.
But you know yours,
And I know mine.
How wildly wonderful does this happen to be?
Dedicated to: Amy Winehouse, RIP