Your hair, tangled in the breeze, streams wickedly away
as though that breath that moves the clouds has you in its sway.
The seeds of love that you have sown grow branches that deceive,
for as I try to climb them, they offer no reprieve.
The song you cast upon the wind is no boon to me,
for as I climb ever higher in affection’s tree,
the effort steals my breath away and in my lovelorn greed,
both hands and heart are pierced by love and begin to bleed.
That mouth that bestowed kisses earlier on the heath,
as you turn to chart my progress, has suddenly grown teeth,
and as I recall your kisses, no matter how sublime,
I decide that their rewards are, alas, not worth the climb.
For The Sunday Swirl Wordle 559 the prompt words are: tangle breeze stream clouds sway reprieve teeth bleed seeds climb branches boon. First image by Adrian Fernandez on Unsplash. Second image by me.