Last Petal

..
This poem has fallen
in
and out
of love with her
-selves long before
this sixth line.

She’s daisy-chain tired
and yet tried and true.
She’s blue. And a particular
shade of gray. She really
really
……………….(really)
wants to get on outta here.
But if you ask her
soft,
she’ll stay.

This poem is nine-tenths
of the way to the moon in her
mind, kind of floating up there
like a slow waltz dream. She’s
keen on two feet on the ground
………….(if the ground is water,
…………….and her feet are fins)
and her head in the clouds
(if her head is that lemon yellow sun
and the clouds are a symphony of rain.)

She’s only half sane, but twice
-told in her tales. Storied in her soul.
She hates wind but loves breeze. Bare
-ly swims, but adores the sea. If
you read between the li(n)es,
…………………(loves me, knot)
she’s less than all, but more
than me.

 

..
In November, we poem. 

 

 

 

 

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