metaphora

I scream your name out loud
to get you out of my lungs.
But I was already in a tunnel
so you echo around my soul.
Coming back inside my ears
and into my lungs again.
You somehow
became the air I breathe.

Echo

Like flower in a vase,
a love that had stopped growing had stopped living
sustained as something to show for
until the water perish or the vase broken
or until it roots can’t take no more

Like flower in a vase,
sometimes love dies long before we realize
masqueraded for its beauty
put on a high shelf or to brighten a rainy day
for everyone —but mostly yourself to see