Please write me a love song in the green woods
of gray November in the rose blush.
Can you please picture us behind the fleeting hours?
Beneath the decaying world — over the whispers of
the blind boy and dumb girl.
Make the calmest lullaby of ours about
our childhood memories stained with dark coffee
and thick fog up the kitchen glass windows.
We'd be sitting on a swing, feeling the most alive;
Emotions rushing up and down, re-written lyrics over tender petals—
Bleeding blossoms tearing the road apart.
Please sketch our portrait of how numb we were
in a twenty-something love—roaring and bursting
out of nothing but desire.
Can you please color us in the fleeting shades of
the blushing skies and burning forests?
We'd be flying high above the sky,
Beyond the silver stars—our roofs would be whiter,
and we'd be sinking the next.
These roads will end in the fall of snow.
The violet rain will cave the emotions in.
My dreams are too cold for you to touch, my dear;
For they flow opposite to the waves of sunset.
A mirage of our colored dreams.
Time flies as we disappear into the green woods.
The swing whistles low—a layer of snow accumulates on it.
Moons rise, skies fall; we're torn apart.
It's time to bleed in delirious obscurity.
The colors are fading into the opaque air;
they smell of you and me but not us.
We're drowning in beige mistakes we'd never
regret for
Love's like walking on air until we fall.
Kiss me one last time, darling.
This road's getting blurred before the finish line.
It's taking us to your hometown, not mine.
Our dreams are frozen in time;
my frost of memories is not far away from your winter of dreaming pain.
These dreams can't be cured with the rare glimmer of shooting stars.
This pain's so blissfully slow and aching; I can bear it
'til we're out of our ways and everything.
-It's a brief time, but we survived over the dead petals.
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A/N: Watch it, everyone—they're trying so hard to be on it! Send them an encouraging vote?
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the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
