Rose Hill

we were high above the clouds
allowing the voices nearby to grow distant
to our blatant ears and
we sat on that wooden bench painted maroon
where silence only deafened the ears of the blind
my hand was gravitated to yours
but i was no newton
so we stared off into the pupils
that led to sleepless nights and endless dreams
even the fragility of your bones
and the pace at which you ran from those dark clouds
or the ruins you fed water to
i couldn't help but want to lick the
honeysuckle that seeped from every pore
that lay on your fine skin
for it was as precious as a hill full of roses
where i could lay all hours of the day
sinking deeper and deeper into your
meadows and thorns
until i remembered
we were only there, in the clouds
watching as everyone else foolishly
pranced and danced until their feet
composed nothing but blood and blisters
not us

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