Blossom

[xanindigo]

  

 All the to  rn pie   ces of me  

drift like dandelion parachutes,

falling in forgotten pockets

of the strangers I once loved.

Left behind, they sprout

like seeds in autumn.

In fading frosted footprints, 

scented with memories,

blossom a myriad blue flowers.

But my flowers were red.