Pure Love

Stifled breaths

Toiled in dried dust

That chokes the aorta of my affection

A dozen dots; watch in confusion

A dozen dots; fooled by subtle expressions

Even as the garden of my love withers

The sun weeps

She has no purpose

I weep with her

Sadly, one can’t help the other

It’s a cycle that occurs

Every time I made a bed for a stifled lung

Stifled, to a depth that melts misery    

Stifled, to a certain consciousness

Stifled, to a craft beauty

It happens when saplings miss the dew

When flowers miss the bees

When tree tops quit trembling

When friends mature

It’s official

Comfort is a paint brush

that smears the substance of my wounds on a wall

For the world to see, stare, muse

Only then, I know my fingers were worth the tears

Only then…I’m free…