I live in a garden, among a thousand blooming things
a sickly sweet saturation of color
my conservatory, scented of blood and
buttercream frosting.
There are lilacs, dahlias, daisies
rolling fields of white clover flowers,
bushes of honeysuckle,
and fences of heavy wisteria.
The trembling of a lonesome violin
floats in the background
each crooning pitch melting away into
masterful vibrato.
Briefly I am reminded of you,
by the sound of the distant violin,
but the smell of the salty, sticky air
and the tragic lament of each gentle arpeggio
reminds me why I ran away
in the first place.
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 1:54 PM UTC
I live in a garden, among a thousand blooming things
a sickly sweet saturation of color
my conservatory, scented of blood and
buttercream frosting.
There are lilacs, dahlias, daisies
rolling fields of white clover flowers,
bushes of honeysuckle,
and fences of heavy wisteria.
The trembling of a lonesome violin
floats in the background
each crooning pitch melting away into
masterful vibrato.
Briefly I am reminded of you,
by the sound of the distant violin,
but the smell of the salty, sticky air
and the tragic lament of each gentle arpeggio
reminds me why I ran away
in the first place.