They say mow the lawn…
Sever the sick…
They are the poor…
We are the rich…

They say **** us dandelions…
Live within their lines…
We say they’re out of time…
They say watch it tick…

They say tame that topiary…
of children’s dismembered dreams
We say you’re not meant to be here like this…
They don’t like the smell of cut grass biting back -
Like they don’t like the smell of blood in the streets - so they say keep it strict -
Make sure you’ve choked the weeds
with rotten fish, and poisoned seed…
They never hold a tight fist, but point a finger,
regal, stiff…

Our thick fragrant odour, frightens them much deeper…
And places a hand where the heart cannot beat…
This is why they don’t want us growing in peace, why they don’t want branches climbing their tall seats…

Because the alter they tokened is faltering cheaply, so they’re panicking and grabbing at every last leaf, in the strive to not be swallowed by the swamp of their own iniquity…

uncut grass
   casts long shadows by night
animated on the inside
   of our basement windows
elongating and dashing away
   projected by the passing traffic

I'm in love.
I'm in love with the way grass smells after it's been mowed.
It has a certain smell that reminds me of summer days and childhood memories.

I'm in love with how that rain hits my window during a storm.
It's like it wants to come in so badly that tries to obliterate my window but only to realize that as soon as it hits the glass, the raindrop itself obliterates.

And I guess that's how I feel in love with you. You reminded me of summer nights and some childhood memories and I wanted to get into your heart so badly that I thought if I made myself fall you would catch me.

But, just like the raindrop, I obliterated on contact.