My Honey's Amalgamate
Twisted thorns cast down below my pretty rose
Whose I can not live without.
The garden of my house sits ever so quietly when he is here.
The chair he sat still aches for his warmth.
Termites mound from my feet, running towards my neck.
Everything is falling apart
Even the clogged garden hose.
Scraps bound to be one, but I who carries a heart
Will live in his eyes whenever he is near.
I dare not say that he is named
For when he hears me,
Each petal is snipped off with out no consent.
After years, the garden has been left untamed
So the thorns claim anything to the piece of my clothes.
Sparkling white snow falls on those very spikes
Mixing in purple, missing the only tight core to be.
His only love that he used to flame just for me.
Now, I am nothing than the snow or ice that sits on his skin.
Calling me when I am near, his eyes twinkle.
There is nothing more to be said
As he walks to me, I must beg.
Chandeliers hang from above to light the darken path in this house.
Let me in, let me in.
No knock or plea but a stomp and screech is all he does.
His pounding against my door is all that I hear when he is near.
Too ashamed to say no,
I wait until he finally busts through my little iron door.
I hear his shadow creep onto the little door
Breathing his fog on my tiny window.
Where he always laid his sweet nape, glistening underneath the blue pinks in his eyes.
Where those stones lay creaking
Breathing in their old sour tales,
The hour has gone down my mother's milk.