2:47 by Dalia Al Shurman

Posted on October 4, 2013 by

0


I remember you opening up,

With the beauty of clusters

Of spiral petals on a sunflower

That summer night at 2:47 am

You told me you liked sunflowers

And roses, in your prospective, are beyond cliché

“The thorns,” you declared, “are the part I despise most.”

And at that moment,

I clenched my fist to my chest,

Vowing to never hurt you

 

The first time we spoke,

You dribbled seeds into my wounds

I have fields germinating across the width my arms

And hips

You quenched veins of mine I was unaware were thirsty

You made flowers grow even in the saddest parts of me

 

I recall surrendering to what I believed was passion,

Allowing myself to be leveled with dirt,

Anticipating sunflowers to sprout from my scars

Waiting, believing that this illusion of you will soon become reality.

But I strived on your favorite author’s words:

“Sometimes the way you think of a person isn’t the way they actually are.”

 

I have reasoned with this.

 

The fields I patiently awaited the growth of

Turned to be forests, attracting the most unwanted

Pains and creatures

 

I would be lying, lover, if I denied my desire of you altering to what this intellect built.

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