I have pollinated berries
and considered you a simple place
rest, an oasis of shade, patience
and its intricacies founded in silence,
rampant in floundered promises.
the grape arbor, a possession of
stories, ideas as stoic as tendrils, wishful
thinking, genuine hope, the composition
of character, inherent in traits. we weave choices,
she finds decades, the quiet whispers
of intertwined lust, wrapping somewhat
stubborn advice around the sun.
she sows stories, back and again
under the gray areas of shade,
the trellis was open, the memories were fresh,
once the birth of a new story never told.
together we weave backwards, plant the child
pollinate the gray and rest below the sun
weave tales through the stubborn threads of our hairs.


6 thoughts on “Grapevines

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