Traipses through the afternoon air,
fingers curved to the texture of bark.
Her silhouette begs him forward,
offers him shelter from the storm.
She pirouettes through flowers,
finding crevices in which to hide.
He knows her name like it's carved on his skin,
and he sings it like a lullaby.
But she ignores his plights.
And soon he finds himself
discarded among the waste of nature.
For once he finds no beauty there
and drowns in the chains
that concave his thinning ankles
and tether him to the reality
that she is not his.
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