Pretty petals float beyond my grasp
idly dipping in the wind.
These blossoms are the scenery by which I
flow with the surroundings and clasp all around me,
between the flittering pink paints.
The grass beneath and around is tepid with noontime laziness.
Bodies of people lean close with heartfelt joy;
I wish to absorb some of this happiness.
Roots grab hold of what they can,
bumping up against stone-washed jeans and the
delicate intertwining of two hands.
I swathe my safeguard around these beating elements of mine
and hold tight with tender adoration.
We are three in one,
a triad of noiseless felicity.
The blossoms erupt brilliantly.
We are consumed
by the pink paints of noontime.















Comments