socially awkward.

LXXXIII.

swollenpoetry:

imagine his vines
wrapping around your stems
stretched out from your arms

and his songs
echoing inside the caves of your
lungs, airless and empty

remind yourself of his flowers
decorating your elbows
smelling of summer and rain

his leaves, which borrowed
the color of oceans
made out of your sweat

find out his roots, planted
deep, inside every vein
carrying your blood

he lives around you
that’s why he doesn’t forget
why he cannot forget

he is a nuance, like weeds,
parading around your garden
running in circles