i’m a broken vase,
consisting of several pieces of jagged glass,
clumsily glued back together,
the fragments not fitting as well as they used to.
you can see the cracks,
the empty gaps,
and it seems as though
i could easily be tipped over
and shattered altogether again.
most people wouldn’t try to piece me up
and make me complete,
but you dare to defy odds,
and even insist on placing inside me
flowers that tangle in my hair
and fill in these gaps,
and then setting me out in the warm sun.
darling, i've never felt more whole
in my life.