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The Burgeoning of the Amaranth

As I was bereft in the snowy hills of winter
the apricity was taken into my arms with
no wavering, no questioning,
and eventually my cataclysmic tendencies
faded away with
the cold.
There was a dearth
of my smiles that
took quite a
toll on
someone like me
and when I pushed
myself towards him
just on a simple whim
that day,
nothing really
seemed the
same.
Delectation flooded
my veins whenever
I thought of
him, to know
that I wasn’t
as alone
made a world of difference.
He had such an
eburnean shield when
we first began to converse
and it didn’t take long for
me to immerse him in my
carmine hues. His white was
splashed with my blood
-red brush strokes
creating a canvas
of contrast and
color and
eventually the
blue in our stratums
coalesced
and
united
to make this amaranth
of such warmth
and consideration-
the stem proved to be
just as deep-rooted
as the unwavering petals.
Only fate’s wind would
push them to waltz,
to dance and
to sway
all while
holding their
florid and
imperishable blush;
only to foreshadow
a rolling cusp of
yet another
crestfallen
heart.



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