Being picked away, or torn away, your ragged ending resembles the hurried attempt to remove you from where you really belong but where you could never be again.
But still, you stand alert on a proud and sturdy beam of summer grass green that shimmers and shines in a polished finish. Standing so tall and firm, the delicate curvature of your beam leans to where I know you once looked for food; evidence of your vulnerable life.
Thick, long veins, noticeable only by touch, lead up until the summer grass green liquifies and splashes into a dramatic sail of ivory white. The tear drop form, pinched off and twisted at the top tip salutes with your last remaining bit of summer grass green. Rust colored freckles and constellations dot your rubber skin, with impressions drawn by the eye in firm shadows and highlights like sunbeams pointing to the center of your universe. And in that center, protected from the world so tightly or left exposed by your white flag of surrender, is your heart.
An alien planet, your heart is a long and prickled desert landscape only roam-able by the smallest of life forms who march militantly along your sandy center to collect your dark ivory sweetness. The doughy cacti in clustered stumps display pieces of the constellations that identify as belonging to your silk flag, like stardust that's rubbed off. At the base of your heart your beam begins with an electric spark of live green that bleeds rich life into the ground you once stood firmly in, not too long ago.
But I plucked you away and ripped you away, so I write this for you before you inevitably fade.
But still, you stand alert on a proud and sturdy beam of summer grass green that shimmers and shines in a polished finish. Standing so tall and firm, the delicate curvature of your beam leans to where I know you once looked for food; evidence of your vulnerable life.
Thick, long veins, noticeable only by touch, lead up until the summer grass green liquifies and splashes into a dramatic sail of ivory white. The tear drop form, pinched off and twisted at the top tip salutes with your last remaining bit of summer grass green. Rust colored freckles and constellations dot your rubber skin, with impressions drawn by the eye in firm shadows and highlights like sunbeams pointing to the center of your universe. And in that center, protected from the world so tightly or left exposed by your white flag of surrender, is your heart.
An alien planet, your heart is a long and prickled desert landscape only roam-able by the smallest of life forms who march militantly along your sandy center to collect your dark ivory sweetness. The doughy cacti in clustered stumps display pieces of the constellations that identify as belonging to your silk flag, like stardust that's rubbed off. At the base of your heart your beam begins with an electric spark of live green that bleeds rich life into the ground you once stood firmly in, not too long ago.
But I plucked you away and ripped you away, so I write this for you before you inevitably fade.