The Storied Tree

Is always of a color apart

Bearing proof of the hands

That built its layers of bark.

Small hands, dainty wrists-

All of the same two people

Who buried their faces and sighs

Next to the uprooted pulse

That holds their skin deep within 

The softness of the promised paper.

Yes, that generous, tearing onion skin

That plays the gist of the day

In spidery silk and treacherous dew,

Right under this rainbow tree of us.

Reviews

[MomzillaNC]

Evocative imagery and a unique view of love.

[Witty Fay]

Yes, love might grow on trees, sometimes.:) Thank you for the comments!

[MomzillaNC]

You're welcome.