Photo by Pixabay
In the morning pallor
as the world pushes forward
the sun swoons
the poppies
to pop their flower
and I miss
my leaning tower
reaching
for your lips
arms wrapped like vines
and the strawberry balm
of your kiss
giving us immunity
to the contagion of time
but
touch
is temporary
like shadows in the cemetery
running long and gray
to shade
every blade of grass
until they pass
like the sun who returns
the pallor to the moon
and summons
the poppies
to lay their blossom
upon the names
of our love
pulling
us
forward
About the Creator
Pixel Floyd
I write poetry. Inspired by the undefined spaces where words take their chances.
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