i haven't told you
about your smile,
and i am not sure
why.
it's crooked,
like a crack
in concrete;
a break in something
hard,
yet just wide enough,
for beauty to flower through.
though,
and maybe it was different once,
but i'd say you're more flowers
than concrete,
as long as i've known you
anyway.
or perhaps,
concrete,
but tangled up
in the vines of something
beautiful,
growing from within
and consuming all
on the outside.
and again,
maybe it was
different once,
as you keep saying,
but back to that smile,
it's a crack in the slab,
so crooked,
and full of vibrant
beauty,
that the concrete
is now just a canvas.
YOU ARE READING
The Flowers, They are so Damned Beautiful
Poetrythe heavy rains come, but they will leave one day soon. and in the soil flowers bloom.
