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Literature Text
it was autumn's beginning
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
of souls.
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
bloom.
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
of souls.
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
bloom.
Literature
She is
She is
the idea of smoking,
hot tea in the afternoon,
a pool in the shade,
poignant poetry,
the person in personality,
chalk on a sidewalk,
blue skies and a rainbow,
shorn hair and an answered prayer;
music in the mountains.
Literature
things
i hope you realize
the light you saw in my eyes
was nothing but your own reflection
Literature
Puzzle Pieces
We fit
together
like a puzzle
solved
from missing pieces.
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
fiction. he hated autumn.
---
my entry for `dreamsinstatic's 5th Annual Poetry Screams Prompt Contest. the prompt used is "autumn kiss".
---
admittedly not one of my finer works. i have spent too much time simply staring at the outline of this piece & feeling unable to adequately fill the words in so feedback is more than encouraged.
EDIT: changed line breaks. am i doing this correctly?
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