Ironic Tenderness


We gather wounds but soon they scar.
We tend to each and one of them with affectionate precision.
So they can sink in oblivion like sugar in cappuccino froth

Until …
on days when weather changes briskly
(As it would, right? in a city like ours)
A fluorescent thud alights under each memory of a scar
Filling the city people with iridescent melancholy
that gathers in the middle of our chest
It pulsates, 1, 2, 3 …and maybe 4
Into the rose buds of our hearts
Fringed by etiolated petals.


Author: My Little Incredible Life

Interested in the mind, the soul and how them two get on. I will try and explore a few experiences, some good some bad, some mine, some other's but I will write with honesty and truthfulness

3 thoughts on “ Ironic Tenderness”

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