was a sticky mess dripping slowly
down the broken walls of
what we called home, and i
the ever so buzy bee who hover
to stare from a distance remain
as my gut twists of hunger
for the continued days
of work: measuring the rooms
that would strategically contain
our— my, remaining efforts
in keeping this symbiosis a force
enough to drive through
the blistering storms and past
what you thought was the drought.
but this, is the fallout
where the flowers cease to bloom
and the sun grows weary
to shine on leftovers
of what we called was home
as honey drips ever so slowly
into a painful mess to clean.
Nov 20, 2019
Nov 20, 2019 at 9:51 AM UTC
was a sticky mess dripping slowly
down the broken walls of
what we called home, and i
the ever so buzy bee who hover
to stare from a distance remain
as my gut twists of hunger
for the continued days
of work: measuring the rooms
that would strategically contain
our— my, remaining efforts
in keeping this symbiosis a force
enough to drive through
the blistering storms and past
what you thought was the drought.
but this, is the fallout
where the flowers cease to bloom
and the sun grows weary
to shine on leftovers
of what we called was home
as honey drips ever so slowly
into a painful mess to clean.
releasing all my poems that i kept so dearly for a year. hoping this one reminds you that all relationships are a two way street.
a.s.
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