When they offer you olives,
Rip the branch from their hands
And beat the fruit off.
The soil is ripe,
Right is might;
Who cares for leaves & petals to fall?

never have i craved
the smell of fresh cut grass
until you left it untouched

the blades stay dead
where i had my fun
forever shadowed
by our summer love

little do they know
that i no longer wield an edge

i let the shoots rise up
and embrace my fate
this garden was never meant
for the both of us