#cyclamen
She has a heart of cedar color
And dreams in shades of peony and lotus stems.
She leaves the smell of cyclamen and ripe apricots
Behind her,
Those who are crying in the shadows of Magnolias
Are finding a shelter within her.
Sometimes I imagine that I'm the sea foam
That is touching her ankles
And the air that envelops her lips,
Absorbing her every move,
That is reflected in the mosaic of her pupils.
Her thoughts are sleeping in the depths of my veins,
In every pore that absorbs her voice
I can hear her breathing.
I remain frozen in her existence
And in the contours of her shadow,
All of what I have seek so far
I have found in every thing on which she brushed.
After all,
I'm just a pale reflection of the stars
In her night sky,
The dying firefly in her garden
Of white poppies and wild rose hips.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
It doesn’t matter
how much weight you carry.
It’s about how you distribute.
Pain diffusion
is like sunlight through leaves;
it takes courage
to let brightness pierce through
and kiss you.
So stay with me,
right here,
by your tree roots,
where cyclamen grow.
Hold my hand
like you always knew me.
Forgive my shyness
as I fidget
with toe rings of clover -
I promise;
I’m less and less scared -
I still love your wildness.
I feel you,
all over.
Eyes,
of Pure Water.
My lack of sharpness
is yearning to soften your edges.
I’m floating above your garden,
weightless.
The ripeness of fruit
that your highest tree bares,
smells like a rose
you delivered.
If we really are here
to mirror,
all I want to do for you
is shimmer.
Nov 4, 2022
Nov 4, 2022 at 9:06 AM UTC