You make me smile at the pale light
that creeps under my eyelids
and whose fingers pry them open
pestering me until I wake

You secret behind my ribcage
that pulses straight through my skin
and climbs like a vine to my lips
and overgrows in my head

‘til  all I can see is flowers
and still, still, it remains you
that lodges inside of me so
but leaves me no words at all

to tell anyone how I feel,
so  I will remain silent
or I will just shrug as I say,
“he’s alright most of the time,”

and no one will know I’m blooming.