Ah, Green-Haired Woman.
Thou art the Heliotropium,
i miss thy black wounds...
I the Heliotrope....
Too hot in the volcano,
I do not have colours.
Like all things underneath,
But we all shall feel the tang,
sharp of malicious odour,
When surfacing, let we face
the orange Helianthus
Fragrance of the Sunflower
Helianthus Annuus
your joy, my dolour, her silence.
The (centi-)Annual Sunflower of Silence.