Garden of dreams
The water droplets gathered by the insecure cupping of your hands fall. That which is left is not enough to quench my thirst. I lick off the remaining escaping droplets. Running away down your arms. Willingly collapsing on the pavement. Seeping in forth giving identity as the sunlight dries ridding their existence if it were so simple...
From the vines disposed to shelter the unprotected walls. You pick a minute and faded berry. Meant to sate my hunger. Clenching my lips refusing your concern. My fingertips freely bask streaming through the glistening water. I capture an auburn petal attached to the fountain. Still... There where the flower I handed to you was torn apart. It was a delicate lie. As a gullible child I had to believe in you. I grasped the scent of another fragrant rose as if it had ever grown in my garden. And if it did was it even there anymore? While I stroll along the rose outlined pathway. I let the flowers we cultivated stroke my bare skin. They remind me of your longing embrace. In your arms I felt protected. Buried my face into your chest. This is how I would remain oblivious to the decaying garden. It was that simple...for you...
To leave me alone besides the wilted flowers. Asking me to attempt to rebuild my garden out of dead matter. Where is the cupping of your hands? Insecure as it may be it sustained me. The dim berry faintly tainted my lips. Bringing me life and hope. How beautiful was the lie. Kneeling before the observant stone angel. The water droplets sacrificing quietly in order to not startle the buds nourishing on a renounced dream.
