Prickmedainty Poetry

Betwixt Windflower and Wandering

What can I give you

Who loved so long, and I so small—

Not flowers.

Not until

My hourglass of breath

Is emptied and time is clear as air.

But if I could touch you—

Our hands would knit together

Like willow fronds.

I would gather a nosegay of bleeding hearts

Weeping great pink tears,

(Magenta jewels like a dreamer's purse)

There would be garlands of Red Dewberry

Rue Anemone, and Pearly Everlasting—

But as I am betwixt Windflower and wandering

This earthly vale,

I shall blow my syllables sky-high

As the seeds of a silver wish-weed:

Know that I love you.

My hopes mist and bloom in a delicate cloud

Upwards, to Heaven, a constellation of Alyssum—

May your Elysium be sweetened by these

Scented stars.