Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
You could say they were doomed, the night they picked the flowers off the dogwood in the courtyard of an otherwise insignificant apartment complex somewhere outside of Savannah. A fairytale of unlikely lovers slowly more captivated in the passing moments of that Georgia heat. The type of heat that coats your skin and roots your soul into the Earth. Air that defies all laws of nature, because it seems almost palpable in your hands. The type of air in which you fall in love too quickly, because it slows down time and space. Where a night can become a lifetime, shrouding demons and doubts. Where a kiss becomes a promise, and a hesitated touch becomes forever. Young lovers fooled by the tricks of those southern summer nights, under weeping willows and fireflies masquerading as stars. But the demons returned when the humidity broke, far too late to doubt the mirages that had been created by the night; inevitably feigned promises whispered by the glow of distant street lights. Expectations, tied like anchors to ships that otherwise should have passed in the night.
0
Mar 21, 2023
Mar 21, 2023 at 8:40 PM UTC
Dogwoods.
You could say they were doomed, the night they picked the flowers off the dogwood in the courtyard of an otherwise insignificant apartment complex somewhere outside of Savannah. A fairytale of unlikely lovers slowly more captivated in the passing moments of that Georgia heat. The type of heat that coats your skin and roots your soul into the Earth. Air that defies all laws of nature, because it seems almost palpable in your hands. The type of air in which you fall in love too quickly, because it slows down time and space. Where a night can become a lifetime, shrouding demons and doubts. Where a kiss becomes a promise, and a hesitated touch becomes forever. Young lovers fooled by the tricks of those southern summer nights, under weeping willows and fireflies masquerading as stars. But the demons returned when the humidity broke, far too late to doubt the mirages that had been created by the night; inevitably feigned promises whispered by the glow of distant street lights. Expectations, tied like anchors to ships that otherwise should have passed in the night.
lp-sills
Written by
27/F/American
Mar 21, 2023
Mar 21, 2023 at 8:40 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem