All the balloons of morning smiles have floated and stayed in my bedroom ceiling, i love them more than dying flowers and solitude. Clinomania lies supine next to it, swallowing the urge to poke it. Sequoia, the air stays the same, blanketing me with such warm- i find euphoria to your leaves dancing to the music of the wind. Psithurism plays the harp in my garden. Incandescence mornings usher the town of pluviophiles to sleep, it's the roars of thunder when they can only scream the rain's name, perhaps, it is an elixir to an insomniac mind. My eyes are chatoyant only when i see your face, incendiary flames of infatuation spreading in a flush of scarlet. Red, it was the color of sanguine epiphanies, reality bloomed the cracks of my bedroom, and mourning starts to play, when awareness destroys my fantasy. Limerence is ephemeral but the chemical reaction of deterioration isn't. I'm not complaining to the obscurity of my tears, it is both inherited as a gift and a curse. My poetry punctures are laced by a diaphenous bandaid of stupidity, rehearsing alibis that were not even mine, by the hands of a clockwork, it was all by design. Hiraeth was the trace of my tears. I was surprised that my heart finally ached for you. I hope the roses that I gave you smells like my perfume, so you can finally know what simple love means.
#WritingChallenge #keepwriting #writer
©sars.
J