Seasoned


She is as frail as an air dried rose
Her petals must meet their destination on the floor
It was a boy, of course
He was not sent;
nor ordained
He is instead
Of infliction in her heart
Doomed, we are.
As the orchid cannot stand on her own
The cripple of her backbone
Will erode her beyond the golden oak
Dipped and dyed in a pool of autumn leaves
Drumming and dancing underneath the northern star
Like hitting it off on a first date to the movies
She wanted him to stay
Doomed, we are.
As if she were a dahlia, she is summer
Like a reflection of the moon on the water
She is light
As if he were a solar eclipse on Earth
He is shadow
He tessellates her destination
Covered in her fallen petals that he saves
Doomed, are we?

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