It's dark.
My cherry-red lips withstand this cold
biting autumn leaves,
as the crimson sky leaves the day old.
One, two, three… Twelve.
The petals shy, never made love;
"Keep away from direct sunlight," labelled itself.
Who art thou?
Why do you care?
"You'll never know,"
it says, from: Someone Far, Far Away
to my dismay.
What is this?
What is this feeling?
I bit my lip
and count to twelve
then drift myself off to sleep.
In my dreams
as though it seems
My anonymous Valentine is way, way
ahead, somewhere miles away, faraway
in the future:
Who am I?
I feel so close, yet
Where is my love?
You are a mystery.
Springing forward
It's spring.
I stop questioning love next morning
And the lovely new day brings
sunlit roses in my heart now blooming.
