The touch of a hand,
The warmth of another,
That precious tickle,
That burning feeling inside,
Dancing throughout my garden.
The garden I cultivate for you,
A field of crimson, the purest red,
It is your colour, a sanctity, a shrine for you,
This garden, my life’s passion,
A never ending field of Lycoris Radiata,
Growing inside my mind.
Temples and palaces,
Cathedrals and castles,
The works of generations,
They’re all incomparable to the garden I grow for you,
Thousands of year in worth of work, the species’ finest art,
Rivalled by the Eden I cultivate for you, the moments it took for my garden to grow.
Problems are non existent in the garden,
Yours or mine, I can no longer tell,
But I know for a fact that they cannot grow here,
All that grows is the Lycoris Radiata, swallowing all other forms of life or death,
That is, before the deluge,
Before the moment you walked into my garden.
Before the moment you entered the realm I constructed for you,
Before the moment you graced the garden with your presence,
Before the moment you shattered the illusion of grandeur,
Before the moment you trampled the finest of the Lycoris Radiata,
The death of my garden,
The collapse of my life’s work, that somehow lasted mere moments.
But it’s okay,
I didn’t want the field of crimson anyway,
I didn’t want the garden of Eden,
I hope you know I hate you,
Because now I’m growing hydrangea,
And it’s going to be the most beautiful garden on earth, lush and green and all for me.
A poem about me feelings for someone. The inspiration comes from a picture of spider lilies.