I found you in a book, then,
through eyes of fiction,
considered your gaze,
in halls, downstairs,
scent of blush soft blue, lured,
It was all heat, a bonfire I kept sticking my hands,
The weight hidden for character, opening,
a space for others to move about,
in this delicate dream, but still
a rise of grass pressed against my back,
I found you, in the dark hidden by vines
remaining for eternity
a violet and a crow on a barrow.
taking a total stab in the dark but is this plath/hughes?
Attempt at a style with Carl Phillips in mind