The Walk

She strolls through the bright fields of my soul,
spiritual fields of celestial plants
which have white suns attached to their stems
as their flowers,
petals of sunlight.

Her fingers grip the fiery flowers,
picking them,
and she tears each burning petal off,
she destroys my soul
asking whether I love her or not,
she will not stop until she has
picked the petals
of all those illuminating flowers,
dismembered all those suns,
leaving the celestial plains of my heart
in utter darkness,
leaving the spiritual fields of my soul
barren.

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