Buttercup kisses

Her soft lips touched the earth, giving life to the soil beneath her tender kiss. The fingernails barely dug into the ground, as if they stopped halfway grasping the beauty of being. The river at her feet was squabbling all the way down to the city, the city that never seemed to sleep but progressed in a lingering slumber. Even the trees around her had moved themselves away from the city as to save themselves from the intoxicating environment of hunger stricken minds. They bellies full of delectables, their pockets full of thing paper rectangles, moving through hands as ideas flee through their feeble minds when they cash in another men's wife.

Motionless she lies there, in serenity with that sky that long lost its darkness to the city lights below. they could not even chase the darkness away, but every night they try with the orange gleam. All they fade out is the beauty that once hovered above the buildings with the searching lights, ready to catch a lover's eye and melt a little boy's heart walking the path to manhood. While this girl, facing down towards the earth, has lost all sense of touch, all human tenderness. Her sensual curves, her breats, her hips, her shoulders and backside, too undressed and too covered. Her rooting into the earth deterred by the cotton of her dress, its virginity stained by the curious grass, wrestling itself underneath her skirts and onto the skin. Now cold and wet, a wax-like figure in a living world, a joke of world's best comedian, life itself.

Her lips were still kissing the grass that so uncontrollably sought its way into her purity. Her skin, the colour that her dress once had, cold and dead. The blue of her lips matches the morning sky, a promise for a dreary day. Her body floating on a bed of lilies, just as beautiful as her drowned body, just as beautiful as her lost soul. Next to her lips, still kissing the earth, a buttercup saw sunlight for the first time, and last. Stepped on by those who only saw decay in the beauty of her death.