At times I want to pick you up,
And dive into your wilderness.
I want to rustle your flowers,
Play amongst trimmed leaves,
And even the bare dirt that stays grounded.
I just want to be in your garden.
Watching as your petals glisten for me,
I want to water you down,
My tongue, your hose.
I'll make sure you remain moist,
I aim to please,
This growing desire you need,
And if you accept my assistance,
I'll make your petals bloom.
Let me tend to your garden,
And I will forever bring pleasure,
To you.
Metaphors are a beautiful thing.