Picked You From the Garden

Our story started when I had that famous meeting,
Do you remember? The time I had no seating,
The sun was fading bit by bit beyond the surreal horizon,
Revealing its last existence, its last peak via the mizen,
As if disclosing true beauty that should be spotted,
Deserved by few, ignored by most, constantly plotted,
You were exclusive, surrounded by the dullest colours,
To the extent that nothing can buy you, not even dollars.
… Glance.

I was dragged by the mob towards the mid of stage,
Exposed to the hundreds reading the correct page,
But doubt not, your being never faded my conscious,
Regular glimpses whilst talking, hence nor my subconscious,
Invaded by your utmost benevolence and attractiveness,
Moonlight reinforced by the dew increased your tenderness,
After ending my speech I strolled out towards the garden,
Found you, touched you, held you, released you, "pardon…"
… Disappear.

Picked you from the garden at around half-past-nine,
Without any resistance or moaning you became mine,
Finally we are home, you and me, completely alone,
Instantly you started to harden, as if becoming a stone,
It wasn't even an hour and you're leaving me in sob,
Approached you, touched you, fractured you; am I a slob?
Were you a ticking bomb exploding when it was just fine?
Or a bullet fired making holes in me, my heart and spine?
Sticking you together for a near funeral, my dear flower,
Slowly, I buried you in my diary without a header or a footer.
… Evermore.