In Green Melted Yellows

it was in green melted yellows
amid branches of rhyme,
hidden leaves of moisture
at the dryest of times
where i first let unspoken lips,
speak for the mind.
in green melted yellows
betwixt with bananas and thyme
and old dying man sighed
'love itself cannot rhyme'
though it echoes down ages of pages,
shadows and scenes
honeygrass lemons, and
aqua sunbeams.
it was wrapped in green melted yellows
where i then understood;
the beauty of two lovers drowning
over one alone and afloat.

poem by Eddie Frelford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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