No one ever asked
if it were dew
or tears
far and near
few and more between.
They all assumed
dew
because she was
a flower.

The beautiful cry
of the chrysanthemum.

Dried tears
from
heaving, heaving.

Broken heart
you’re
leaving, leaving.

Bitter salt
is what it tastes like.
From the ocean,
but her eyes
weren’t blue.

She’s sorry.
So terribly sorry.
For never
being enough.
For herself,
for you.

Hit the ball honey.
HOMERUN!
I hate this game, it’s no fun.

Run fast darling.
Run on back.
Go back to her after your bat says whack.

Play your game.

But is she cheering you on from the stands?
((Because honestly she’s holding other hands))
That’s not what you deserve, that much is true.
But I can take you out of the game,
can’t take it out of you.

Let’s start from the top.

Strawberry strands that may as well be
g o l d e n.

Perfect and pure, like the lips,
kisses to be stolen.

Light eyes full of promises, crystal cool,
a teardrop of an angel in life’s swimming pool.

A voice so sweet and special you see,
especially when he talks,
((tells secrets to me.))

Collar bone ledges that are beautiful just as they’re there,
standing on the edge for a breath of fresh air.

A perfect snow body, pretty like this are few, pale and perfect.
Perfectly you.

All of this body wraps up into one,
into a person so perfect, my work here is done.

do you think I meant to fall for him?

no. but I don’t necessarily want to stand back up.