The flowers you once planted in the garden of my heart blossomed in the gentle cascade of your love, their vibrant petals reaching toward the light of your presence. Yet now, abandoned by the nurturing hand that gave them life, their leaves grow weary, their vitality fading. Only a few fragile petals remain, trembling on the edge of oblivion, clinging to the memory of a home where they once thrived in radiant efflorescence.

I don't want to miss
How good your skin feels
In the dark,
When no one else is around
Except our breath.
And we can breathe.

Opinions are just that.
But at the same time, I know,
I don't want to miss out.

I know how bad it feels to show up
Late, and "goodbye" is the last thing
You want to hear.
I don't want to miss out on the
Dark parts of you,
The parts of you that fit
Between the empty space of my
Fingers.
No matter how dark,
There's always a place for you.
It doesn't replace how soft you
Actually are.
It's not for the world to see
They can see whatever they want to.
When it comes to you,
I am not the world.
And I don't want to miss out

A love so delicate
How did we get to intricate
Set us free
Didn't know it's all you wanted to be.

But then you unwrapped yourself
The moment I left
Something I will always recall
It's the fall
You shamelessly aimed
To call.

i spend a lot of money on flowers.

give me a minute to explain myself here:

every saturday morning i wake up early.
hours before work.
and most times, minutes before the sun rises.  
i’ll shower,
put a very small amount of effort into my appearance,
(because it is morning).
(because who really cares anyway).
and i’ll drive myself to the markets
that wait approximately four songs away from my house.

i won't be there for long.
(i am never there for long).

i’ll pick up some treats
for my dog (who was not thrilled with the early morning wake up)
as an apology for the interruption to her sleep.
and then i’ll carry myself to the buckets of flowers.

i’ll stand there and decide, for a few delicate moments.

i’ll ask him for ranunculus.
i’ll tell him that
i like the way they open,
and how delicate they are,
and how a single touch can have them falling apart.

he’ll agree
tell me that ‘softness is beautiful’
(this petal he gives for free)
and i’ll store that in my pocket until i need it.

i’ll think about how
i can not control much.
but i can control the flowers my vases hold.

so what i am trying to say is
i’d spend any amount of money to be able to hold something.
to be able to say,
“i chose this.”
instead of letting something be chosen for me.

Blinking never was a
scary thing for me,
But missing you made it be.

many will know the beauty
of a butterfly's wing
and the delicate intricacy
of their decoration
those swathes of colour
meandering boldly in flight
a proclamation of
             their presence
             their providence
whose startling eyespots
can mimic the stolid gaze
of the stern and the alluring
observing in judgement
or perhaps in wonder
blinking only as they flutter
flattered disbelieving
yet there are reminders
in that Rorschach patterning
that those with ill intent
should observe
threats and
             warnings overlooked
by those in admiration
of such beauty
where few will heed
that gossamer fragility
broken by any
not considerate enough
in their handling

Someday I’ll savage my past and I won’t think someone loving me is a delicacy.
Someday I’ll realize I’m all I got.
Like on those days my lonely screams louder than your presence.
Like on that day I screamed for God to show me what he saw in me.
Like on this day where I wish you could’ve met me earlier.
You’d love that girl.
You’d love who she was.
But for now I’m all there is and the best it could ever get.