Letters

She hovered above a painted rainbow,
out of reach for both
daffodils and baby’s breath alike,
both dreaming of love,
dreaming of places where she,
in a graceful stupor,
would shiver and spin,
faint upon their caresses
with a sigh.

How fascinating it is that she could inspire dreams
in flowers with her pure existence,
with the light of her gaze that sprinkled amidst
the gardens like fairy dust
that drove them to thrive
and reach out for her touch,
sometimes succeeding.

I reveled in the way carnations
of all colours had brushed upon her heel,
lifted forth the daffodils one by one
and blew their petals across the air,
of which felt like her breath on my skin still,
made my skin tremble with sheer bliss,
urged my lips to rest behind a
dandelion,
and exhale a breath
that contained unspoken love:
air that held love letters and delivered them unto
the dandelion’s children,
taking off like snowflakes
drifting through the clouds towards the sun.

And she read my love letters,
or so I thought,
I could never recall.

I was too lost in the hymn
of her laughter to remember anything,
the way she poked out a tongue
to taste the promises I muttered
on snowflakes marked by my breath,
and there she was!
Tasting my breath,
with a blush.

‘Twas then,
when she descended gently
into a bed of flowers,
that I grew jealous
of those that stole the attention
of the girl that stole the sun.

Author's Note

Part II to The Girl That Stole The Sun; critiques? Thoughts?

Reviews

[Baby Ricochet]

"she in a graceful stupor" great line

[Tai Ryens]

It does have a nice ring to it; thank you, Baby.