Heart shaped strawberries.

I used to dream of mornings that are
too lost in the depths of my palms to
remember now.
But they consisted, I'd imagine,
of blood velvet petals, and
bonbon flavoured blossoms, hanging
peacefully from the skies, cobalt skies,
streaked with waves of indigo and gold.
In them, somewhere and without fail, I'd
trace the outline of such stars that
likened to your face, gleaming in
eternal glee.
We'd share stories of endless walks over
moonlit burning deserts, and a colossal
lagoon of infinite blue. For these were
special moments - no, not moments at all,
but multitudes of 'forever'.
In the heart of all good things, beauty in its
most subtle form
(be it in heart shaped strawberries,
'I love you's' and rainbows)
are the places my heart learnt to beat once
more.
I got going on a road of yellow,
where a mellow song on Sundays played,
wherein purple hazes, tracing mazes,
gazing through and through
the open doors of your life, soaring
beyond,
living, breathing, being,
where you did all the same.

'I don't know where this is going',
'Who cares? Keep going.'
I will.