Interlaced like the threads

The colours and patterns

Are verified by the skills

Of the weaver

Just like love that grew

Like a flower

And had been ripped off

Close to its height of

Flowering

Just tasted its sweetness

Remained to the lovers

And he

Fallen into another trap

Of a honey pot

Like a drunken insect

Into Venus of devouring

Flowers.

But his dream to taste her

Again

When he returned

After a life of adventure

Seemed close

But as closer he sensed

To get to her

The further she drifted

Away.

DRIFT.TFIRD

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.