We lay curled up, dreamily beneath the dappled light of shaded oak.
air sweet like honeycomb clinging to our clothes.
the dandelion clock hovered, static overhead,
poised in the wake of lovers prose.
Summer arrived, gracefully, creeping over the garden gate
perfumed in floral scented notes
unveiling a layer of mist over his gaze.
above the chaffinch chirped merrily from his perch,
He stirred, restless, toes dipping in
and out of shimmering silver pools.
Loves tender kiss warrants my heart
to cardiac arrest.
sweet peas, iris leaves and common weeds.
Lords and Ladies, weeping willows, wild daises.
cotton lace tangled thoughts, rose petal lawns.
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me
Near, far, entwined together
we waltz across the thistle thorns
to take the centre stage.
He sweeps me in, to the rise and fall of the viola play,
swirling, till we wilt to the wooden parquet.
A planted pearl upon my breast,
A single breath, A candle flicker.
No crown of jewels upon my head, no audience to applaud.
the curtains fall upon this stage, with sweetest regret
He loves me not, he loved me. He loved me not