Give me wild love,
The kind which cannot
Be silent or caged with iron.

Which dwells in the shadows,
In back alleyways,
In barely beating hearts.

Love born in the winter,
Or on the morning bus,
Or on vibrating phones.

Love that grows like sunflowers
Reaching toward heaven
Spreading in the wind.

Maturing with children,
And fleeting seasons
Though never fading.

Undying and unyielding,
Consuming like a wildfire
Leaving only ash behind.