When the duckweed scums
The edge of the battered pond
He sees eyes that flint, her
Hands peeling two ripe plums,
All traces of holding back gone.

Brush snow from the garden thyme,
See how green it loiters there,

-like a gavel resting before a crime
His shallow breaths fill the air
his heart-out of sync- out of time
Plums peeled within an inch
of their soon-to-be-short lives
He braces for her words to fall
praying their blow will be
softer than the flint in her eyes

©Jilly/©Vivian Zems

A collaborative poem. The first part in bold is by Jilly and the remainder is by yours truly. Tagged :  Casting bricks to attract Jade

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