The poppy fields, with their vibrant red bodies
And velvet black eyes, peer at the sky.
Liquid light, melts
Sand falling
Off the edge of the horizon
Scarlet and merigold,
poppies and sun,
The ideal backdrop for his return
He stands stagnant, perched on top of the hill, arms spread wide,
As tiny toes trample up the flaming ridge.
He drops his duffel, green for the badge he served,
Into the meadow.
Praying its memories sink into the rich soil.
They tackle him, embrace him in love.
Forcing him to the ground
Shoving bliss down his throat.
He holds them tight.
Tears blur his vision,
As a dandelion dress
Glides towards him.
She floats above the red, a bumblebee fertilizing the poppies.
Her pecan locks dancing behind her in the wind.
He sees the ring, the one he gave her,
Ensnared around her fourth finger.
She bends down,
Gracefully pulling the children away.
So she can see his face.
She wipes away his tears,
As her own fall down her dusty cheeks.
They embrace, her body crumbling into his.
Her lips, sweet maple syrup.
He stares at her,
There was no beauty where he had been.
The only red,
****** skies.
The only yellow,
Jaundice, in the sick bay.
He didn't remember true beauty
Until he saw her.
She is the blood in his bruised burqa veins,
the breath of fresh air,
That he will **** deep into his soul,
Whisking away
The dunes weighing down his heart.