Holding On

The clock strikes once again,
in a queen I do not glow like royalty,
touch is but a tick that burns on my skin.
I can not paint the picture that took me-
the angry colors, the pastel sighs

broken, too hard to repair
like a car after 1990, chipped-
no manual on how the engine runs or
how to find the oil leak that spewed venom
on a the broken partnership.

Cracked, strong glue holds the last leaf on.

©  right now, Denise Annette White