It is the bee sting on your arm you got maybe a year ago, lasting,
even after he left. Pollinating the ebullient ideals,
till they bloom into those primrose parachutes to save you
as you fall.
It is an iota of fluttering butterflies gaily colliding and searching
for that right place. Stirred by the mutational caw’s of cars,
rattling floor boards and window panes,
as you sleep.
It is the seagulls scampering at the coastal eve’s as the chill bites,
frozen hours huddled together. Deep cuts of darkness and
stars fluently lulling angelically overhead, lasting an eternity,
as you dream.
It is that wet sensation under your eyes as familiar sounds
spew inward. Those helpless lyrics poignantly play
those rhythms that make you shudder and startle,
as you think.
It is a thin string wrapped around your waist, in case your forget,
it tugs you gently. Warmth bursts into those veins and
recalling it causes you to smile,
as you live.
It makes you blue, but you gleam that rosy white,
despite the dips and dives. Thriving on the dualism
of it, knowing it will always be, and never will change,
it just is.
