She dreamt of an August night, red and blue run across his chest.
binding his heart to bleed amethyst.
Once, he lied in her lap, sank in the fragrance of sunflowers. He stretched out upon her, like he was lying on the cool meadow ground of Colorado.
His hand danced in hers, her slender fingers bended and bounded, in his mind.
She never got to kiss him on a starlit August night. For the stars, scattered… forever a mess.
He always remains, in the age of twenty-four, and she is no longer the child.
Poem and Art by: Naomi Ruth Saharski W.