islethea

[islethea]

I bleed golden sap from the sycamore

Molasses drips like sweat from my body

The group of carcasses bled on the floor

My existence can’t exist without me.

I am beautifully coordinated

An intricate equation of atoms

My soft innocence, exterminated 

A sickly fate I can’t even fathom. 

I pine over hounds of love so freely

Slips my fingers like clear river water

Nestled into galaxies just merely

Escaping the pain my mother brought her.

I am peppermint and eucalyptus

Like golden treasure growing from the ground

Next year’s chilling dead winter won’t miss this

I am a small jewel waiting to be found. 

[islethea]

You had me in the palm of your hand. I was nestled between your fingers, and stuck, cuddled into your folds. You cupped your palms and I lied in an uptight position to fit into that small space. And with dewey brown eyes, sensing your intentions, I needed you. And you needed to be needed.

I can still catch a glimpse of your smell in large crowds or big, soft sweaters. I can still see you in men with gentle voices or slim, tall frames. I can still string my thoughts and connect myself to you across from each other in this city. But none of that exactly synthesizes or manifests you, in your entirety. Nothing can. I can still feel you.