You bought me sunflowers last Saturday because you like the yellow orchestra we can listen to, but you do not have to direct. It plays a private concert only for you. I play a few notes here and there too, but nothing can compare to sunflowers.
I compare lots of things to flowers, like your eyes. You do something to my insides I cannot explain in a metaphor to flowers.
You planted a gilded seed. It grew faster than any ****; more delicious than homemade irish mead.
Sun shining, birds chirping, children playing- all of this- sounds like life’s decaying because you’re not next to me.
You make oxygen more than a box on the periodic table.
I’m not suggesting I’m unable to perform tasks without you. I’m used to ashes in my coffee cup. Your presence seems to open up cold sunflowers. You set ablaze the sun’s powers. I could go on like this for hours about the love you built; iridescent solid sunflowers