My scent will entice you.
My taste will bring you back.
The more attention you give me, the higher I climb.
And while you’re distracted by the things that make me appealing, I’m wrapping around you tightly.
Too late will you realize that I’m strangling you.
Too late will you remember that I’m a weed, not a flower.
About the Creator
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More stories from Tiffany Fairfield and writers in Poets and other communities.
Falling up
We were two souls lost in the darkness and talking to each other throughout it was slowly tethering us together. We were building the foundations of our world. Where no one could find us and only those we allowed could enter. We wrapped ourselves in a bubble of fantasy and insanity and we felt home. We weren’t religious, but we created a god and worshipped at each other’s feet.
By Tiffany Fairfield3 months ago in Poets
The Business of Nature
Dew drops reflected the light of the sun. The inhabitants of Whispering Woods woke up to the golden droplets of water on the leaves of the flora. The oaks particularly enjoyed the light and the maples did, too. Happiness enveloped all who lived there, even the rocks that cried out in the night delighted in the morning.
By Skyler Saunders6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
I love honeysuckle but I'm not sure I like the idea of it strangling me. I'll be watching it more closely.