Can you hear me?
I come to you now,
birthed in the granite chaos
of your mind,
in the forgotten scars
of your heart.

In the reverie
of a definite
composure
you’ve come to hate me-
for disrupting your balance,
for denying you stability
in the reckless way you require.

Please.
I wish to be heard,
to be endowed with your graciousness.

I hurt. I am hurting.
You see that.
I make you feel that.
And you hate me for it.

I will not apologize.
I will hold onto you tightly.

Together,
we are nothing short
of juniper-blushed skies
in the July monsoon-
tenderly raging.

Please.
I need recognition
so I too
am not released
into the decay
of all things.

It’s strange.
Lilies still in the wind.

An extraordinary wind at that.
Wind with a purpose so impertinent
It became love.

If you didn’t know any better,
You might name it something sweeter:
Abhorrence.

Your eyes sharp
And soft with desperation
Look at me for answers.

I’ve never seen anything quite like it
I marvel and speculate alongside you
We fall into a steady and cyclical dissonance
Are the lilies still anymore?

Yes, the sky is still blue. The grass,
Green.
It’s rather lovely.

I feel a tug. A pull.
With ease I lean into its plea
Spilling into silence,
I am gone.

You are here alone.
Delicately gilded, you are safe.

The lilies still in the wind.
Utterly strange.