by Siddiq Islam

She was the blossom.
Her pink, silken smile.
And her peach-coloured joy.
And her soft, petal style.

She was the leaves
And I couldn’t quite catch her.
She dropped in the breeze
And I just stood and watched her.

She was the flowers
I mushed in the mud.
Her sap ran like tears.
And she was the buds.

And she was the petals.
My foot without thinking
Made paste of her heart
With a sole white and stinking.

She was cool Spring.
Away God has tugged her.
Now our cries rasp
In the dry, arid Summer.

She was the eve
That we stood and embraced
On the lip of her door.
A final hug bye and
A lover no more.