Pt. 3: Nuance.

You and I met on summer’s sunny morning

Where sunflowers dance in zephyr,

And, swirling round, the fae

In yellow skirts, soft as magpie’s feather,

Are always upwards soaring.

Amongst the fields of plenty,

As clouds made the sun remnant,

You picked a cadmium bouquet,

And looked to me with resentment;

I, at you, with contempt, my hands, empty.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s