The flowers have withered,

I see.

Wasted away,

Pieces adrift in the wind.

The weeds have overgrown,

I see.

Visual thieves,

Hugging the home we built.

We used sticks,

And rocks.

We used pillows,

And blankets.

We used popsicle sticks,

And paper.

We used cereal boxes,

And milk cartons.

And we sat in the fields,

Felt the sun bury itself on our faces,

Planned to coexist,

With our fingers tracing the grass.

My fingers tracing your lips.

I never knew such soft, intentional skin.

Your fingers tracing nails and wood.

I never knew foundations could be so fortified.

Now,

The flowers have withered,

And the weeds have overgrown,

I see.

Watching from the window,

Where you once undressed me.

My soul, withering.

Until we meet again.