A Bloom

Resolving round and clacking inside, coming to terms without
a bloom too helpless and sheepishly blithe to ever be more.
Sealed with but an airy, drawn-out whimper, it felt like a scream,
and what remains of the unseemly, drab slag slowly washes far away.

A bloom too helpless and sheepishly blithe to ever be more,
meandering curls gave way past pain to sharing nervously forgiving spills.
But what fun was had, reckless and rambling nights upon drinks and stars.

Sealed with but an airy, drawn-out whimper, it felt like a scream
from bells I once enjoyed in the frayed expanse. Time rang and labored to
abrupt, sad certainty in full. Search party’s not coming back.

And what remains of the unseemly, drab slag slowly washes far away.
Unslumbered by a pleasantly surprising “hi,” from shaking to revelry
to pining and longing for those innocent, plain moments now forever lost.