June 27, 2013
like the vine inside your soul 
constrictor of a wordless air 
protector of a rhythm 
the thorns will sting through silence 
but roses color red the roar 
you harbor in your eyes 

your impressionistic flag 
concealer of a darker hue 
defender of my ecstasy 
life moves like a rainstorm 
in the world of thick brushstrokes 
where you have made your home 

grows when your feet leave off 
meter marked by blooms 
reminder of the triple time 
that heaved beneath our chests 
one two three—now gone from me 
but you still know the steps

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback