Lover mine, where art thou?

dwelling in me a yearning grows, for love is the seed and the idea is the sprout to blue eternal.

Mothering and Fathering, one can only wish as the sprout blossoms and the seed is all but gone.

one may cry and thou shall mourn the seed, for only the stroud from the seed remains.

eventually the sprout too shall wilt leaving nothing behind but a memory ——————————————— Emil strode among the flowers in the garden, the soft light from the party indoors illuminating his back. He fiddled with a plucked dandelion, twirling the stem in his hands as he felt the rocks gently crunch under his shoes. He heard the quieted chatter and crickets in the summer night, seemingly pondering something as he stared at the small weed.