She had violets blooming in her eyes.

They hold the night
and
a daybreak's first breath.

Let gravity do its damage.

He said he liked her hair long:
messy and unruly against
upturned cheeks and winks.
Braided secrets running
between lilac
blooms and plaits.

He tasted of *** and berries
Short. Sweet. Sin.

He is a wisp of an
inferno eating
all the words playing

tip toe

on her bitten lips.

Winter came as a painter’s
brush dipped in blue and grey.

Secrets that taste of sleep
syrup and honey  f r o z e
Drunk bees dance in
pale and grey roses.

A careless mistake came
in bruises, a stain of
an indigo sunset.

Rusty kitchen scissors snip,
snip, snipped away all
the bad, sugary tartness
eating a toothache.

Spring crept up on a
bare nape and shoulders
Her sun-baked eyes burned,
softened like butter,
maple syrup and something
harder than life.

I saw my days in your eyes,

the flecks of gravel, a little grey cloud
&
a deep warmth between the hazel specks.

Daydreaming of rain & dry spells.

He said he liked her hair long.

She just had a pixie cut.

So, she put down the kitchen scissors.
Letting spring and summer warm her bones.

And then he dared to say
"I miss your high cheekbones and the nape of your neck."