Imagining The Beige

Once again I am imagining the beige
another of my periodic eccentricities
one of those lines that I love to blur
with a steep sigh to suck in the souls of the innocent

How ironic that what I reap is never missed by the sowers
so immersed in the throes of their passion
they do not realize how little of me they really touch
until they read my message in the dust that covers their memories