Artist - Christina Vilgiate
Take me back,
back to the moment
when we stood at the spiral staircase’s head
and tumbled down
the stairwell of joyous thought,
into the eager tendrils of green.
The taste of
mint fresh on our lips
as we lay in the dandelion field,
weaving intricate bands
and wreaths of glassy weed,
When the cool water trickled down our naked forms
as we came up the stairs
and reached our haven.
Our haven, where we sit today.
Holding on to the remains of the bands
that we had woven long ago,
while they wither and crumble into nothingness.
Gaping idly as the glassy weed coils about our necks,
the dandelions grow around us,
and keep growing,
till there is nothing left to see but the smiling yellow faces that reek of mint.
The beads of cool water are rising to the heavens,
leaving blotches of crimson
on our pale, tired forms.
With every fading breath,
we are sinking deeper into the grip of the tendrils
on which we fell
the day we tumbled down the spiral staircase.
A Night Owl original, this piece has been authored by Pallavi Singh.