A Flower Crushed in the Vines

Come back downstairs,
I don't want to.
Ravaging through cardboard boxes,
He's ravaging through cardboard.
If I kissed you it wouldn't be a crime,
Coming down the ladder,
There is no smile on his face,
Interjecting my comments like they were arrows.
One more time,
Come back downstairs,
He pauses,
Standing in the middle of the ladder,
All I can see,
Are his blue jeans, and brown hair,
A statue,
Ravaging through all of my senses,
He's ravaging my senses.
Some times I can't tell if he is even real,
I can feel it working its way into my bones,
Like almost scolding water,
Pouring over my shoulders.
I don't want to.
My hands wrapping around the ladder,
Staring up,
Pressing my face against the cold wooden frame,
I can feel his eyes, but they are not on me,
They are on the tiny pink flower,
Painted on the wall.
That is what he is,
A flower,
Ravaging through the seasons,
He ravaged and stole my autumn.
He froze and broke the branches of my winter,
Thawing my spring,
And scolding my summer,
Like water,
Pouring over my shoulders.
Come back downstairs,
I can't do this anymore,
You can't stay up there forever.
You're a flower,
Did you know that?
A small pink flower,
Painted on the wall.

Plum Trees In Snow

Convenience,
Take a short cut,
Covered plum trees in snow,
Standing knee-deep,
Watching you run through white fields.
Considering the wonderment of hot chocolate,
Faux fur covering the back of my neck,
As chilly winds rustle the fibers against my lips.
Birds fly in the horizon,
Of the white, cold sky.
I hear you laughing, but you have no face.