I spoke with the trees until they helped me to sing your name upon the wind.
Passing in all directions, they carried whispers to one another, admiring how the moonlight seemed to make your skin glow.
They told me how you danced through the ferns, your black-clad frame disappearing until the stars shone within your bottle green eyes.
When I dreamt of you, the leaves drifted your scent to curl around me, an embrace filled with longing.
You spoke my name, a breath carried along the honeysuckle wind.
Tasting your cruel sadness, my tongue felt thick with regret.
My sweet dream, how could you not feel the air around you charged with the pain of my soul, the words trapped in my throat.
I tried to speak my apology, but miles away you had wandered, stealing my heart, hiding it in the jar within your pack.
Branches leaned down to eavesdrop on your heartbreak, alien to the endless life of an oak.
Tinged in blue, your resting place reflected the depths of our despair.
Closer I tasted you, felt the hum on my skin, excitement buzzed in my soul.
Those eyes on the horizon, I watched you turn away.