Beneath The Sill

I’m looking outside at

A planter, sitting beneath the swaths of

Monoliths with nowhere to be but

Here. it houses a verdant, violent

Explosion whose tendrils are splayed

Upon a brick-and-mortar wall,

Spilling its guts to the lizard that

Just wants a place to sun without

Hazard. The chill of the breeze is a

Terminal patient, talking to an old

Friend for one final, full, hearty

Laugh before it dissipates behind the

Bush. The carnations peer nosily over

The divider, hoping to catch a glimpse of the

Funeral dirge for the living and breathing, a

Spectacle that ends when one seeks and

Finally finds. The contract between this

Planter and I was never legally sound, but

I honor it with rigidity and a never-nameable

Flinch.

9 Kudos

Comments

Displaying 3 of 3 comments ( View all | Add Comment )

Cass

1611761404

i am not sure how to articulate the reason, but this part made me nearly cry. i quite enjoy the way you paint a picture.

"The chill of the breeze is a

Terminal patient, talking to an old

Friend for one final, full, hearty

Laugh before it dissipates behind the

Bush"

Report Comment

I was trying to find a better way to capture the fleeting way a breeze comes and goes, I appreciate the emotion it evoked from you.

by Teej™️; 1611773816; Report

Olive Oyl