A Sucker For Honeysuckles

I count his footsteps
to my dismay,
I stood still as they walk
away from mine.

Pipe dreams and poetry
tasted cliché;
asphyxiated souls,
imperfect by design.

A barbed crown adorned
with silver-coated lies,
Driblets of honeysuckle booze
feed the betrayed.

My dull thorns were entangled
under his vines,
Sugary bites would persist
even when decayed.

With rue, the angels choke
without a parting kiss,
He seeks for rain
on my crestfallen summers.

I was a lavish teal garden,
a bright bundle of bliss.
Only a shoulder was I,
and it injured my colors.

My fault is breathing by the bones;
the words did not ripen
‘til the earliest of May.

The white picket fence
I could never own—

His love took minutes to harbor,
but it was years too late.