Bloom.

Bloom

With blushing buds that open and close
like your diaphragm or my mouth
over yours, a fist
that grabs at old fingers and holds
and won’t let go—

A pulse, a pulse, pulsing and hot…

Petals as thin as eyelids,
softer and more lovely than
the rise-fall of a chest
taking in air for the first time,
than a toothless mouth—

Baby-birded and chirping
“I love you” and need you
And bends like the grass under dew—
heavy, pale and new-lifed.

A cry, a cry, voiceless, unbroken…

It all started with a fragrant sway,
a wind that touched and wouldn’t stop,
a rigid bark, the bud that opens
and closes, complete and full

And opens—
and dips to kiss the cold dirt,
grabbing, reaching for it like
tiny fingers.