I tend to your roses
I tend to them well
Theirs petals prick at my skin and their thorns welcome me home
They waft with the air, their silage lingering in my hair
I tend to your roses
I hope, I tend to them well.
I tend to your curtains
I tend to them sweet
They remain still against the barrage of winds
Yet they sway at the breath of your name;
missing you as they miss the rains
I tend to your curtains
I hope, I tend to them sweet.
I tend to your shirts
I tend to them soft
They no longer smell like you nor do they hold your warmth
They do however embrace my skin in the manner that you did;
they sing me to sleep
I tend to your shirts
I hope, I tend to them soft.
I keep caring for all things you,
All things that hold a visage of you
Grasping at a wild naïve hope that you're hidden from me
In some way, you'd somehow make it back to our coffees
Back to our mindless bickering and senseless love.
In some way
Somehow
You'd make your way back to me.
YOU ARE READING
Mostly
PoetryA murmur of the land upon which the marching band stomped on in its haunting glory . stories buried for nights that go unnoticed. mostly unnoticed.
