Alphabet Soup Minuscule

The Laundry Maid

The Rain That Never Fell

Our colors were bright at first.
As the sun shined on our faces,
Slowly, we broke through the ground that held us.
One species of you, and one of me.
We bloomed quickly in the fall,
Our roots were wound so tightly around one another,
Like a mother’s arm.
Yet, we never bloomed.
Instead, we quietly thirsted for the rain that never fell,
And we starved for the time we never seemed to give.
I have been left here, a propagation of one.
In this sullied vase,
Cut off and left to dry.
But alas, I am blooming now.
My color electric crimson,
This scent I carry is thick like pudding.
To which you will never smell again.
My lonesome stranger.

In the Turning

In the turning emerges new word,
And with this word– fresh tongue that tastes of clove.
One that speaks softer than the one before it.
A language overlaps, like cumulonimbus.
But with this…
A need to grasp.

In the turning you hold your name.
It isn’t worth much more than the voice who speaks it.
The way it rolls off a lip and,
Sounds when it is spoken in your ear.
He loves it more than the one before, and he carries it proudly.

In the turning we look away.
We don’t catch one another’s eyes in passing.
Instead pretending not to notice, and ignore these pages that are burning.
As the paper yellows,
The writing fades.
Yet, in the turning a heart still pounds.
As the finger still tries to say what the mouth cannot.

In the turning…
We fade.

Toss it in a can

Love is like a cigarette,
At first touch you are apprehensive,
Yet, you hold on to it and try.
You inhale small amounts at first,
As you press softly between your coral lips.
It feels different, incredible.

Then over time it become mundane,
You feel sick, undesirable.
That appealing feeling goes away with each drag.
The filter comes off on those lips,
So, you put it out.
Toss it in a can.
Then walk away.

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