the air was quivering
like strands
of delicate air
in the breaths
that i have yet to blow.
covered with dandelions
that i will take
and blow their feathers
with huge breaths
of near minty air.
touched with petals
browning from the bruising
and curling in on themselves
like dried apples
that i will never eat.
falling from the stems,
where rabbits hop past
in a unison i
never had understood
while they nibbled at the edges
before brushing it away
as their ears curled in
and their noses twitched.
and giggled
like a child
before hopping away like
they were now the blowing petals
that had not been bruised
and had not been blown.
and though the petals fell
it did not affect anything because
a new flower sprouts
as the old one goes
and things go round-
again and again.
YOU ARE READING
Part the World
Poetrythey called him a child and disordered for wanting to get out a series of poems meant to bridge the gap between the night sky and the blue ocean. from many people who have seen both and are hoping to change the entire world with words alone. they s...
