14 August, 2016

Regret

Did a petal ever fall
without a drop of dew
The cheek as frigid
as the mountain air,
and the brush of the wave
turned you blue.

Lost between the I's and you's
that one word of regret
The back as rigid as the floor
breaks within a stare,
as venomous lips part
words split my golden hairs.

Once the sunshine true.

Copyright Denise A White

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