when he scattered a combination of kisses
on my collarbones & chest
(the rusted gate to the crevice of my crux)
in a vain attempt to unlock the possibility of a love so parched,
like the terrain of his treachery,
that the sweat determined to fall down our backs
would be enough to quench his thirst -
as if each kiss would be enough to transform my entire core
into a garden of his own
to play in.
with each kiss
he planted flowers in my heart,
with roots down to the core of my being,
knowing of the dark clouds
pouring down the rain from my brain,
nourishing the fruits of his labour
in a cool whirl -
a breeze enough to ruffle even the smallest of feathers,
swirl the dead-most leaves,
& arouse the most dormant
even if each kiss was enough to transform the crumbling of gates
(like an autumn leaf
slow dancing its way to the ground
in a fear of being crushed
by the foot steps left on my heart),
the falling of summer's lust,
& the trembling of hands against the chilly air
into ember-tinged petals
(to keep summer's spark alive),
he would believe my weathered mind incapable of rising from the ashes.
he was a summer gift,
a present to the future of no future
but autumn was always his favourite season -
he never did like to watch the flowers
with each kiss
he planted flowers
in my heart,
with roots down
to the core of my being,
My favourite part. Don't know why. Those lines just caught me. Took my breath away.
Another beautiful poem. You might not think it's one of your best works, but it turned out beautifully. I think you did a wonderful job!
There were a few clichés but not a bad poem at all.
I like how you compared the relationship like the end of a warm summer lust, only doomed to fall as foliage in autumns ruse. The ending was very powerful indeed.
A good read.
But damn, this is.. woah :0