Touch the flowers on my sundress as if you pick them from a field;
The field is my vast season-changing heart, and your hands are my ever-changing sun.
Pick apart the petals and touch my budding breast, I turn to ash.
Plant new, I burst into many colors that may not be my own.
But never try to harvest, never force my change.
You can love a potted flower, but I will never be yours.
The innocence of a white sundress, the dirt upon you when you rip my roots.
You may water me, I need you so...
But please know when my stem is weak,
And when my mind is through.
A flower does not know it's beautiful,
It never asked to be told so.
Keep your hands gentle, help me grow.
I only want to grow and bring golden sunflowers to your life.