Behind the bushes are where I can rest,
quietly, softly, my heart beats, still rushing,
you were my object of interest,
my complete obsession.
I remember those moments as if they were yesterday,
when I was there by your side
gazing sideways at your face longingly
and you failed to acknowledge my interior picture,
my brokenness blown in a breath,
up and away,
dispersed in the ache of
my blessed yet cursed day.
Because when you arrived as your charming cheeky self,
knowing you’d achieve what you hoped,
I prayed that you’d treasure me for me,
that I’d see you more often
But, our trysts were simply that,
nothing more meant to be.
The tendrils behind the bushes
grow and curl above my waist
towards my face, they lengthen themselves
as though they are meant to be there
reminding me of the twisted nature of our arrangements
which weren’t even there in concrete measures,
only when you decided to return communication,
my burning words of yearning fixation.
© 2019 Lauren M. Hancock
also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.