A Twenty Minutes poem.
Not Pink, Words
What if the person reading my words
remembers the pink paper they are printed on
and not the words themselves?
Or is it the pink paper
that adds the final flourish
to the plain old black letters
and the story they are telling?
Or is it that the reader thinks of me
and all our conversations
and the pink paper is just a reminder
of where the words came from?
My goodness, such analysis,
when maybe all that is necessary
is just reading
on the pink paper.