Two weeks,
aeons when
succumbing to the insanity of Love.
Two weeks of yearning buzz,
confused bee’s
flutter in the chest
while ivy struggles for clear path.
Two weeks of living,
incomplete, drenched existence
stormy child
frightened, dying.
Meeting oneself on a muddy track,
holding back, not holding back.
A jungle of a life time when
eating an endless dessert of tinned plum,
red, rich,
sickly, sweet.
Two weeks.
Stop!
I turn against this instructed combustion
and welcome clean and easy light,
a glow of love without the eternity.
Calm the drama
rest the finger picking
and wringing of old bells and hands.
Be still bee’s
you know your queen,
fly straight.
Two weeks,
a string of life lived,
a little plant growing through
a brazen crack.
Two glorious weeks of crisp sheets
and windy nights
and peanut butter
and coffee and yellow dog and paint.
Two weeks.
Beautiful imagery. Thank you for sharing this poem.
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you are welcome i’m grateful that it is being read!
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Lovely, evocative imagery SP…wondeful as usual! Thanks 🙂
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two weeks is a long time when overcome by the insanity of love….plenty of time to come up with poetry!
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