I'm not a gardener, and you say you aren't either, but we both know,
because I'll always have a soft spot for soft hips and small fingertips.
Because I'll always get high on the harmony of lullabies.
Because my favorite hair tie was his but it's also the color of your skin.
Because I'll always be wrapped around your green thumb,
even when I love him.
Roses bloom soon enough so that the thorns can hide.
Bare limbs can still look lovely beneath an overcast sky.
But just because the leaves are green when they grow again,
I won't forget the branches once were bent with emptiness.