How I discovered you, poetry

Sometimes I would pick tender daisies

and granapples from the yellow grass,

lady bugs flitting like red faced angels,

maybe demons against my palms,

warring with heaven and hell to get to the sugar petals,

bunched in my bolbous toddler hands.

and without my noticing as I grew older

those sugar petals were breasts,

and the lady bugs pursuers,

and the tender daisies words I would pick

from the lushly growing lexical paradigm of my days

and all ladybugs would shy away.

Provoked by my mindful insanity.

And amongst that sorrowful time

Maybe it was the way in which first I felt your inky words caress my being,

a foundling under your touch, I blushed.
I was but a young ingenue, unable to bear your intensity.

Maybe it was like twilight trasversing the shadowed sky one night

where all I could do was gaze

at the awefulness of  what you [poetry] were.

As the parchment creased inwards and crumbled 

into my folding hands.
I then dropped you into the garbage and left.

Perfumed tears melding with the opacity of clouds.

Little did I know as the rain wept upon the trash trail I left behind

you indeed lost all your meaning,

your ink, lifeblood dissipated into the sewers.

Yet you could not cry out,

but only dissolve, a matted napkin rose.

There was only the silence in that moment

and I believed that was all that would ever need be.

I would sip on my teacup in the morning brush,

cheeks red and moist 

eyebrows flashy and precocious 

and kindle my love for you as I rolled in the grass

spading flowers with my bare hands

 only to remember How I discovered you

was a form of continual motion.

Affectionate devotion,

as lady in waiting

weeping stoicism.