Trumpets of Blue
Driftwood - petrified swirls of wood
laced with delicately draping
trumpets of blue
Morning glories in mist
my heart aches for true
Why does it pine
for the essence of you
petrified thoughts
a delicate whimsy climbs seeking
a dark sun
to flex her tendrils on
Minute are the creatures that flaunt themselves
craving to be noticed
Flowers brighter than a rainbow
may as well be grey
Dull and dreary senses
locked in clouds of reticence
perhaps a kiss
a fluttering eyelash
to awaken them
look there
such beauty can intoxicate
the unsuspecting
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