To the girl who left me unrequited.

The Hibicus

The Hibiscus:

You were a silent hibiscus.
Beauty bloomed throughout you that it made my lust rather viscous.
Your porcelain face engraved my thoughts.
The thought of your peony lips is enough to tie my lust into knots.
Aphrodite must have created you from the finest clay.
Your muddy eyes were enough to make my glance stick throughout the hallway.
Whenever your cherry blossom lips whistled French, it was like the winds were singing a soft song.
Your toffee rose hair tickled around your face like a beautifully strummed birdsong.
When we sat in class the day Notre Dame plumed into smoke, you wilted inside.
It was as if the moon and sun decided to collide.
Your stem seemed to bend ever so slightly, it was clear that you missed home.
You barely uttered any words, not even enough to fill a tome.
When sophomore year whistled away, so did my
lust.
It flew with you back to France, clotting your feet with moistened dust.