Downpour of the violets

drinking in lilac rainbows

of fall petal greens –

you burst into the shallows

of golden rays, sinking

to the very bottom.

With every inch of you,

so taken with the murky

waters of sorrow;

you were the creator,

you were the divine

of all melancholic

daydreams.

Lily pads and purple

hyacinths clasp to

your flesh and bone:

seeping within the

fog, into the perils

of your pessimism –

so utterly beautiful.

The scenery,

the light of those 

auriate streams

into your toffee abyss,

such seraphic speckles

of your true artistry –

beyond your patience,

beyond your time–

the frown upon your lips

I wish would slip away.

And extractions 

from your lavender

hues made the

shiniest of diamonds

look dull.

The feelings of the

silkened orchid

brushing your heart

and tainting you blue.

Although your tint

was of different kind,

of different saturation

than prior,

no hue would ever

be as beautiful

as you.

Your umber orbs

arch and ricochet

to the atmosphere,

where the wind

met the clouds

into rose

complexions,

and your bare skin

embrace them.

The flowers and the

herbs surround you,

tickling the curvatures,

licking the flesh

of your desolate care.

And your lips,

softened and made azure,

left no fragment

of a smile.

If only you descried

the shattered entities

of your majesty–

the angels from the

heavens had nothing

against you. 

Where your skies perform

by the superior lights;

for the stars

were the sun to you,

but you

were the sun to me.

I was captured

in your woe;

as the fine sculptures

pivot to instruments

playing symphonies

in the black.

I fell into your darkness,

into the opacity

of your flames–

burning me, 

scorching me to

nothing.

But adjoined by

those water lilies,

into a pond of

loose petals and

celestial gems,

I felt none of it.

Your fire did not

scare me,

your toxicity didn’t

choke me –

your picturesque did.

For an eternity,

drowning in the particles

of what was made to be, 

I saw you:

exposed by nature,

vulnerable at heart.

A nostalgic enigma

pulled at my conscience;

your eyes, finally,

undergo the pressure

of mine.

Thus standing in 

your ocean of glory,

guraded by down

and despair,

I so badly wanted

to dive in with you.

Into your depths,

submerging in the

flaws and heartache,

I, too, want to turn blue.

I, too, want to strip

away my mind,

to feel the pain

you encounter at

every second you

breathe.

I crave to carry

that burdensome

weight – from your

shoulders to mine.

Walk to me,

separate your lily pads

to approach me.

Lest you’ll be caught,

by your purple –

by your hesitance,

by your sea of grievance –

in the algorithm

of your hyacinths.