The opinions expressed in this article are the writer’s own and do not reflect the views of Her Campus.
Lichen grows up my legs
Green as my eyes
Reflecting on your lilac palms,
Ripe with the bluebells
You picked just now.
My heart swells
Like English ivy onto my chest
As the wind blows Orphic melodies
Through growths of nettle
You were cut from the same stone as citrine, I decide.