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at this rate we die
beheaded by the second hand
nervous tick of hours
The cool aquamarine water

as it kisses the skin
and we move like fish


in self-induced darkness
to the cadence



as well as serendipitous

whit howland Β© 2021
An impressionistic word painting.
reminiscing youβ€”

back to the dawn when you unclothed all of the petals

so you can see what kind of love
he's made of & if he can
make the same love with you;

he would want to feel anytime again every touch
that scorched his skin that gave him
the wintry chill of fire

when you breathed him in it felt like an undaunted caress
of sea breeze to his soul & he carelessly
opened to your stranglehold
unafraid to die but also unafraid
that it was how it feels to be alive

like a sea on full tide
you love to drown whatever is on your hands;

wildflowers blossomed in the silent breaking of dawn
when he surrendered to you
by the rural seaside where
you plucked him

into stenchless strips that you laid on his palms when you were ready to leave with feelings he can't keep
& give,

strips you can never put back
once you unclothe a flower
of everything;

π‘«π’Šπ’… π’šπ’π’– 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 π’Šπ’•, you asked him with a gaze that

would make him want to be with you
but wildflowers don't belong to the sea

𝑨𝒓𝒆 π’šπ’π’– π’“π’†π’‚π’…π’š 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 π’π’π’˜, you held his hand

& he's suddenly desperate to fall in love
that before you could ask, he lets you go;

this time by the seaside, it's sunny without you; with eyes closed
he stares into the blue
wondering where would he be now

β€”if he hadn't said no.
when a one-night stand finally happens between two people who are more than just friends but less than being lovers
πšŠΒ Β πšπšŠπš‹πšŽπš‹πšžπš’πšŠ
πš‹πšžπš›πšœπšπšœΒ Β πšœπš˜πšπšπš•πš’Β Β πš’πš—Β Β πšŠΒ Β πšŒπš’πšπš’
πš˜πšΒ Β πšœπš”πš’πšœπšŒπš›πšŠπš™πš’πš—πšΒ Β πšœπšπšŽπšŽπš•
A π’•π’‚π’ƒπ’†π’ƒπ’–π’Šπ’‚ is a flower I really am fond with because of its delicate paperlike petals; in the rural downtown where I used to live, these are common flowers that come in a variety of colors. But here in the city it mostly grows as a flower-tree. The one I saw the day I made this haiku was that with pink blossoms, by the sidewalk & near the pedestrian lane. As I was waiting for the green light, I remembered there were just buds the last time I glimpsed on it but most of those buds have blossomed into pink bells around that time already. And in the backdrop were the city skyscrapers. It just struck to me how such imagery can be so poetic too. Thinking of a very delicate-looking flower to open not to a rural meadow, or the seaside, but instead in a bustling city where indifference is an element of survival to a life that's as hard as steel.

the midnight wind howls

a petal is plucked
from the lotus' heart

it drifts away

the reflection of the moon
on the frozen pondβ€”

the lotus beneath the ice

it's stonecold lonely
when you're only a touch away
but we're forever apart

when there's no ripple anymore
but blossoming thorns of ice;

as the midnight wind lulls

the last shred of hope fluttered
from the frozen, sullen heart

it withers away

across the sky-deep, empty hollow
to the infinite darkness beneath


& snow-white
I hope I have sufficiently portrayed the imagery I wanted to express here.
your wounds glistened in the moonlight

the pain wreathed the shards of a glass heart
all together & the depth of the fall
was enough to break the wings of an angel
into pieces

but as the hope inside you crumbles into ashes
while all of the feathers slip away from you
into flames & smokes
will you find a moment to close your eyes

look at how we were made to fall
so we could find peace in the pain

would you listen so you could see deep down
there's a diamond now
of what used to be a shattered hollow

β€”it's fire is burning you back to life

as you bathe in the warmth of all the blood
your wounds glistened like starlight

so why don't you show the night sky
that in its darkest
diamonds bleed the brightest
& in the darkness
something it can never have back
is reborn

why don't you show all of the stars
who's the brightest
how gracefully you can burn
for freedom;

when they finally know
what their ever-burning fire can defy
they will fall

because the gravity of beauty is cruel

but broken angels, with the cost of our wings
these hearts of diamond is why we're
unbreakable people

so what's there to fear in falling

we're not as gorgeous as the stars
without all of our scars;

without loving the fire that burns us
it would turn us into ashes
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