Cli·ché

We garden together, He and I,
Uprooting rocks, chiseling Fuchsia,

We,
Argue a lot, and;

Framing roses in golden, morning light or a
Flaming red sunset,

Helps cool raging fires.

Birds join us when we are not too loud,
Sipping iridescent water from clay pots,

Serenading nectar onto rhamphothecae;

We squash fat slugs accidentally,
And bitterness.

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Published in: on August 27, 2015 at 22:18  Comments (3)  
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3 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. I really love your style. So crisp. Great poem.

    Like


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