Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
she was never yours
she belonged to herself
to winter snow
living in summers breeze
infertile, she lay
among crimson-tainted sheets
white faced
laced in my being
her fingers reach for mine but flinch at my warmth
into the dark she goes
she was never yours
months in mud red
wilted, left to fend alone
rusted leaves,
falling one at a time
she felt it
every leaf
every petal
rotting away
if she could, she would find the sun
if she could
she would dance in the rain
if she could she would find me
if she could, she wouldn't be me
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