They call a certain part of the night,
When the darkest ink lays before dawn,
The Witching Hour.
And in every corner of this room,
I hear echoes of my whispers to you.
Phantom limbs intertwine,
As if it were November
And like clockwork,
You'd hush my words
With sad lips
Knowing I'd be left here in June.
And when I feel the weight of your chest
Heaving with lavender,
Just know I'm still strong
In this Bewitching Hour.

waiting for it to come....
AUTUMN......
the second spring.......
when every leaf is a flower....
falling in bliss....
fluttering in the cool lavender breeze.....
making me to fall like them .....
in love.....again and again.....

I remember someone I once knew
You are no longer her
She has faded away with time
I sometimes see her deep inside
But no longer showing
Tucked away, she still finds her way out
Sometimes

But this new person is growing
More beautiful than before

What once was a wilting flower
Is now a new bud growing into
A beautiful flower
Lavender, sunflower, rose?
Who knows

But one day it will be fully grown
Yes it might wilt on the dry
Horrible days of its life
With the old self trying to break free
From its prison deep inside

But you are stronger now
And you can keep it from reaching the top
And decaying the beautiful outer flower

Warm laundry gives me the
fuzzies, makes my hands grasp
   majestic purple soaps
to cleanse away the ***** wails
compacted under fingernails
A selection of smell good things
lotions accompanied by fuzzy things
to rub away and radiate the aura
of calm, balance, and tranquility
Lavender is condusive to many
different uses, inhaling the graces
of herbal essence, soothing said coolings
inducing mood peelings of layers of grime
a skin liberative—figuratively speaking
Flowers of passion brew thoughts into actions
silent buds permeating scents
   so invigoratingly innocent

Where does worth come from?

I've been told my aura is Lavender,
By a man trying to flee
light blue paper scrubs

and milk dripping down them.

He says I'm not suicidal,
Lavender never is.

I visited the wonderland after ages
I was welcomed in the same old way.
The lavenders performed a splendid show
Reminding me of the last May.

The mansion was as we left it,
holding all the memories we made.
Your clothes were laying on the floor near bed.
I still remember how I allowed you to invade.

The family photo was hanging in the gallery
showing off one of my greatest achievements.
Those trips to London, Paris and New York,
a new adventure on every weekend.

The empty rooms haunt me now
but I am holding it all with a thin strand.
(If you ever want to return, darling,
Just come back to our Wonderland.)

Tell me about your lavender eyes and your vanilla hair.
Tell me about you sandalwood smile and coal black stare.
How does the rain wash away your hatred for other so easily?
But the soft breeze in the summer fuels your fire?

Tell me about your wandering mind and your benevolent heart.
Tell me about your gypsy spirit and harnessed passion.
How does the ocean calm sadness so easily?
But the autumn smell makes you cry in the night?

Can you tell me why it's so easy to fall for you but so hard to make you stay?