Love and Words


beauty mine


roots and all

her words remained

piled on the ground,

scattered among the detritus

of what has been torn down.

roots and all

tangled and limp 

against her skin

petals lay still soft but 

brittle they'll become.

her hungry eyes 

seek mine

my silence their only view,

what we had shared

fades slowly

in the shelter of her palms.

roots and all

her desire has death become.

what fortune it was

that we met in the field

away from the house

and gardens and blooms,

what fortune it was

that the beauty 

she harvested,

was not mine.


decagon          poetry



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