Entwine

A willow weeps as a lavish lady
Leans on, lips soaked with another
Her branches ensnaring him
Closer, they become gnarly bark.

Her tiny twiggy fingers curl
Up in his soft mossy hair
Forever, their lids are shut
They’ll never know what they are.

They are each other.

I stand before the display
Of silliness so sickening
It’s positively senile.

And yet, they disappear
Swallowed by each other.

And yet, I weep alone
As they wrap up.

And there I stand
A weeping widdow.
Grasping at the ground.

Entwine

imagineation

Joined March 2010

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  • AngelaLegge
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