There is an unusual nothing,
A deadness of any strife,
A quietness left over.
The peaks are there, Distilled,
Watered and diluted, Always,
Perfumed with skin, Tanned,
Peeling, burnt, ignored.
A perfume of yellow peach,
Fear and repine,
Never refined,
Always shy.
Submitted: January 07, 2021
© Copyright 2021 Flambe. All rights reserved.
Comments
Very nicely composed and presented.
Sat, January 9th, 2021 6:56pm
Thank you for your comments :)
Thu, January 21st, 2021 12:43pm
Thank you for your comments :)
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Ann Sepino
Ooh, I love this! A poem that can have multiple meanings, and even themes. There is both a sweetness and bitterness to the lines, which may or may not describe the beauty and pain that comes with love. It's a wonderful read. :)
Thu, January 7th, 2021 2:14pm