She grew flowers in her hair and drank the morning's dew.
She'd often whisper to the sun all the things she knew.
But when it came to her and the moon,
her lust came too soon.
The flowers did wilt,
she became a prisoner to the silt.
She dies capitve of her need,
her heart strangled by the weeds.
Feb 18, 2020
Feb 18, 2020 at 12:09 AM UTC
She grew flowers in her hair and drank the morning's dew.
She'd often whisper to the sun all the things she knew.
But when it came to her and the moon,
her lust came too soon.
The flowers did wilt,
she became a prisoner to the silt.
She dies capitve of her need,
her heart strangled by the weeds.