She looks for the thirst
through sky, blue written
into skin deep cut— wilting
last breath— petals slowly paling,
her pores curl & harden.
She bows at the stem
& descent becomes a holy pigeon,
a slipped stone, hoping to hear
heaven speak.
The bird unclasps its wings
& her petals begin to tremble,
then they flutter. One by one,
they fly until hemmed white
on soil crust, they dissolve into mulch.
Naked, she wrinkles as if burnt
from the inside. As if gravity
has unchained her, her silence
fills up the garden like water bells
ripe with August's swollen notes.
Her eyes close, cut curling fetal
around blood warm, dawn chorus
fragile with hungry coos.
What an interesting poem about pass of time. I feel that this poem talks about being old and decay of life.
Indeed, it does talk about aging. Thank you for stopping by.
I liked your poetic description of how the flower is dying due to the lack of liquid, at the same time it feels like you are talking about a human being in his decadent life. Thank you for sharing, best regards.
A mysterious last line. I could read this all day, like sipping on a fine wine of unknown origin. Billing and cooing all the way. Lovely language, as always.
Very good poem, as you are reading it talks about decadence, I liked that you used the analogy of a flower for this particular writing, hugs and happy weekend ♥
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