Sarah, yellow Rose

Sarah is a princess, a whore, a little girl. Sarah is women before me and women yet to come. Sarah is my name. I don’t like sharing it with people but I do, I’m unique and so should my name be. Sometimes I’m Sarah Rose after my great grandmother who had beautiful long hair and that fits me better. I know my mother remembers that her grandmother was smart and independent, she was ahead of her time living life with the utmost grace. A pink tulip. Mom thought I might be more like that if I had her name. I’m not. I’m a morning glory…. Or a yellow rose. My name is what I want it to be. Sarah Rose is Christmas time and summer nights, she’s dancing and potpourri. There’s another Sarah that’s soccer games and lemonade, and another one who is rock & roll and fast cars, but we’re all different despite our names. That’s what makes sharing her not so bad. She’s three vowels and two constants, she flows out of your mouth smoothly the S and the A melting together. She sticks to your tongue…. Spicy and steamy with violins playing in the background. There’s a peach scented candle burning low and a slow old song murmuring but its really just Sarah, the smell, the sound, the feeling.