I learn so much from watching you garden
The purple petals of the lilacs paint your fingertips
and marigold pollen dusts your palms with gold
The small brushstroke of dirt on your cheekbones dances every time you speak
And I would bet a whole bouquet on the fact that if you unbuttoned your flannel,
roses and daisies would make an escapade towards the ground
Now with me,
Oh love, with me
The colors rooted in me once upon a time are something that I no longer know
The flowers growing out the tips of my fingers withered down to the soles of my shoes
No matter how often I watered them, they never seemed to bloom

That's the irony in falling in love with the gardener
That's the irony in falling in love with something so alive
The rawness in how something so torn into could love something so well put together
And your hands are so soft, even the flowers cannot compare
I hear them whispering in the sway of the breeze,
and they are envious of your touch
Because the lilies cannot compare to your delicacy
While my hands are a cracked desert, yours are the sunshine that plays parallel to your smile

It's the first day of spring
And I'm watching from under an oak tree as you plant seeds
And I'm writing this poem for you to read eventually
Whether I'll ever show it to you, I guess we'll know in a few years
But please, don't let these words be wasted

I thought you didn't hear me when I asked you, "How is it that you love life so much?"
But maybe you answered in your smile
Maybe you answered through the way you made me feel
That day you touched my barren, deserted hands

You were a vibrant tone of yellow
And I was a dying shade of blue,
When you touched me, our colors mixed to a brilliant green
It was then I realized you answered in natures hue
I realized this is how it feels to be alive
Maybe you can help me get used to feeling this way