Poem 77


poem is based on a story I’m developing. possibly bcb. or possibly the story of the Allens?

where the flowers bloom…

there are dreams. their dreams.
she is graceful, truly unbelievable from her dance to her utterance. I see myself spinning underneath the gazes of brown eyes. I know the feeling of her hands, rough and stiff from holding her pen for too long at a time. I’ve seen her smile, lips curved and hesitant.

they are like memories of my reality. we have danced in a field of dandelions. wished upon them and read stories under branches of trees. we’ve been together, but always apart.

he is blunt, incredibly uncouth from his blazers to his trousers. I see myself laughing within his guarding arms. I’ve felt home in the soft touches and lingering stares. I know the feeling of his hands, hard and soft from work and fun.

they are my wishes for a future. we have done it all, the fights, the make ups and the break up. we have shared both good and bad through civil conversations and aching arguments. we’ve been apart, and never together.

there were dreams of us,
where the flowers bloom under the blaring sun,
where summer heat turned to fall winds,
and where snow coated the field.

there was us.

c. velajune 2015


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