HELLO PURPLE HIBISCUS

We create plays with words

Herb theatres with curtains dripping verbs

But some things, we just can’t reverse

So each time you look to the east with me

I find buried pieces of your peace shining at me

I find dead poems anew, full of life with your battle cry

For now though

I am just a poet in the attic, thinking about you.

Writing poems far away from your love, my life.