The softest of pinks,
Much tougher than you think.
Upon seeing shades of red,
You’d think that they’ve seen nothing but the dead.
Instead;
They endure new blooms,
Garden grooms,
Pinches from males,
Often a bouquet of sales.
The colour pink,
Was more beautiful than you think.

Orange Poppy.
Pull your gun.
Please, don’t look so glum.
Smile.
Pull your head up,
Tuck your chin.
Be the flower your mother taught you to be,
Before you sin.

Jupiter moon,
You make my heart swoon.
Different to mine and earth’s,
You have worth.
Although you’re not a star,
You can equally shine and light up the galaxy from afar.

Wine tasting will take a hold again.
When Spring has sprung,
And flowers lift themselves from their bums.
A season show of display will keep you in a wondering dismay.
Sit back,
Drunk up.
Oh, and please fill my wine glass the f*ck up.

You are small. You are a flower.
Don’t let yourself fall beneath their shoe.
You’re stronger.
You fighter.
You handle the rain. You handle the heat.
You handle the changing seasons.
So here I am, yet to tell you;
You will bloom again.

Tonight you kissed the ocean.

You gave light to the waves.

You gave them everything they needed to dance towards my shoreline.

My tears can no longer seek home in my eyes,
They refuge to the mainland- flooding and filling every crevice- they take away life.
Toxic and hot,
They spurt out as if they are small spits of lava.
I cause pain and devastation,
I **** nature.