I've seen you, yet
It's not you that I've seen.
It's your color,
Your shine,
Your flowing in time.
I've felt you, yet
It's not you that I've felt.
You're tall,
You're strong,
You're stemmed like a sprout.
I've smelled your scent, yet
It's not you that I've smelled.
You're sweet,
You're harsh,
You're good for my health.
I've tasted you, yet
It's not you that I've tasted.
You're bitter,
Cleansing,
Regrettably bending.
I've heard you, yet
It's not you that I've heard.
Light,
Quiet,
Loud, for the word.
It's you, Lavender, that I've
Seen, felt, smelled, tasted, heard.
It's you, you that I've looked for
Forever in the world.
Lavender, I have yet to know you,
That is true.
Lavender, how will I know
If it is you?
YOU ARE READING
Late Night Literature
PoetryShort stories(or poems sometimes, if you can consider them that) I think of/write late at night or something. Just a small collection of thoughts, I guess.
