A Dying Bouquet of Serendipity
Quiet feet walk slow on the lamp-lit streets--
Oblivious faces... passing--
help to light the night.
I curled up and shivered
beneath the old cherry tree
with the lofty arms,
with the haunted silhouette
straining to paint the moon.
Last night I left my finest ode to rhyme
with my blue eyes falling--
upon her mouth.
Her cold hands clutched my heart
cruelly like a dying bouquet of serendipity
as the tsunami of morning sun flooded the
lamp-lit streets.
Copyright © Red Barchettadrive | Year Posted 2015
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