A poem… found buried in a notebook about to be thrown away…

She is a beautiful mistake

spreading her buttermilk tendrils to taste the world

dancing to the beat of pulsating hearts

gasping for air

connected piece by piece

bones are broken and lost

finally at home in love

speaking in crimson

sleeping naked truth

amidst ivory lies that litter our haven of comfort

serendipity blossoming

flourishing, and then dropping

like petals that can no longer believe in

themselves

this is life

this is love

this is where we belong