the branches lower their head
adorned with hidden thorns
and the rose petals dripping mud
drops, the sizzling sky melt
like crystallized coconut oil left
under the summer's sour moon
the fragrant harvest glows rushing
in the search of love essence
wind flow within the petals that
collapse on the wet grass
kissed by the touch of monsoon
dangling on mango trees
on any other day, the wilted
oblivion sojourn the crooked
patches, the very space currently
rainflowing like a stream of
its own, shinning with beams
of an artificial sun lamp
hanging upside down, on
a maroon wall creeps the
silhouette of flushed dewy limbs
of windswept flower trees
burdened down from the weight
of dampened crapemyrtle
the cold wind waft with the earthly
scent wrapped in rose
water and dry woods to pry
away the yellow umbrella
in my hand now stuck within
a tall bramble, unkempt.
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