Ichor

Photo by Ian Piexoto - 2022

When the cynic

would muse of love,

he bled blue.

A faded,

fleeting sapphire.

A callous,

indigo nightmare.

Now,

he bleeds green.

Murmurs of verdure.

Flora bursting from

woven seams.

For not of envy

or greed,

but for luck he dreams;

blooming, verdant green.