His family tree is in North, mine in the west.
We aren't poles apart, so are we then selfsame?
Though miles apart, we did became.

His reasons are orange hairs of white hibiscus, mine are sweetness of grape.
Me being a limestone in the ebony of his heart,
he settles with the bare minimum.
He tied the knot with his best friend,
I held the rope.
She being the fate;
I, hope.

I hop to the top of hibiscus past the tangerine,
reaching stigma of love,
he stayed at the sepal protecting the bud, or so it seems.
Our phases were thin white petals with a clear rain drop being replica,
Of what we shed and shared.
"She is all thorns," he tells me
"All I seek is your scent."
I have now an odour of withered hibiscus,
Babe, all I seek is up and up.

© lonely_geek