Bougainvillea

Sun shines down on my face, on my arms as goosebumps trail across my skin. I relax into that pleasing warmth, carefree laughter pouring like wisps from the ends of a funny joke cracked. I turn around, easy smile, you're quick to fill me in. A pat on my shoulder, a squeeze, I ease into it, chiming along, comments, comments, that drop over your words like syrup. Syrupy sweet, she smiles, and pulls you towards her. Boy, are you so blind to not see how my eyes caress every inch of your face, how her ears ache for the lilt only your voice holds? Tell me boy, are you blind or do you please to shut your eyes off?

She pulls you toward her, I let go. She teases for a picture, so eager to please; I sigh, glance at the sun again, how it filters through the trees. The Japanese have a word for it, I think. I try to remember, and then I am pulled back into the land of the living by your soft hand and easy grin.

Tell me, do the sunspots lie or do you? Do you have eyes only for me, despite that bright canvas painted by white lies? If so, I urge you to give in or give up. For if you do not choose me anymore, do not take pity, then let me go. 

She preens under you glance, launching into some elaborate anecdote, grasping at your sleeves and drawing them in.

I turn around, gaze wandering far, the sun shines on me, bright and heavy. I squint, for there is nothing else to do. A petals falls on my eyelid, shielding it. Oh, quaint little petal, why do you wander off? Your earth calls to you, the sun loves you, go bask in that light.

I see the tree far away, that bougainvillea in the distance. The bus drives away, tree breezes out of my vision, but the sun never leaves it. I hear the faint laughter in the backgrounds, like windchimes in the springtime breeze. I know it then, deep in my heart, what comes to us all; but I feel unburdened. Bougainvillea, the sun loves you, I see now, but his love will burn you too.