crop.

i trace blankets from your breath pattern
keep myself warm within your air
until fear tramples my high
we've laid on these clouds too long
scared the sky will soon grow tired
space split asunder
all silent sliver in color
half bloomed orchids fall from empty spaces
place themselves between the crevices of my lips
just to remind me of your kiss-
all filthy and beautiful
like soil and flower
trying so hard not to spoil the hour
but it is already 7.5 days past its expiration
i have grown sour with pessimism
couldn't find the corpse of my past but buried it anyway
yet its ghosts still play in my hair
so here I am, watching the glory of sun fold
and the rain turn acidic over our garden
imagining sweet smells fade into a dead body never found and never cared for
a stench so foul
palms covering nostrils will do nothing for the fumes playing footsie with my senses.
it is much easier being unattached,
much easier to piece together pain for a poem
but what peace then?
you are too good for me to turn you bad
and I am too in love to turn my back
so I will deal with you in front
and keep seeds tucked beneath my heart
to plant new flowers
every time my ugly past pulls at our roots
and tries to stunt
our growth.