Part of What Makes Me

I play with my fruit, talk to tart and sweet alike, let my tongue (and teeth) love it from peel to flesh to seed… I love a good piece of fruit, invite its lush to fill me, to become part of what makes me, to see the shape of me (from the inside).

I found a moist heart
chilling, just staring at me,
begging for a bite

 

“Passionflowers are weeds”, you say to me, your disdain for the bohemian bloom as ludicrous as the possibility of your opinion mattering to my garden (or to me).

“I’ve always thought of you as invasive, parasitical, and not at all pretty”, I say to you. “Aren’t you glad that laws (and people) I respect find you useful?”

my passion
flowers in wild twists,
by nature

 

My favorite place in the hospital blooms and buzzes in July. The chant feeds my all. I sit on grass, thoughts crowned by coneflowers, fingertips slow dancing with soil. Passersby glance, smile, or shake their heads (as if trying to dispel the slow-death escaping the chimneys they have made of their nostrils). The honeyed buzz, the life-song, the winged dance is ended by puffs of smoke. The coneflowers and I droop a little, wondering why…

bees and blooms
do it perfectly,
why not us?

 

Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

 

Abloom

I see you seeing me. I know you are a flourishing gift. Do you know what I am? What we could be… (for each other)? You, growing through brick walls and urban filth. Me, knowing what it is to be… (you and me). We are weirds of nature, abloom.

a wild thing—
city grown daisy,
me with you

I see you seeing me, but know not what you are… until you grow deeper in me. You see, a sprouting thing rarely shows its true face. Not before trust takes root. Not before desire grows into more. Never (not ever) before two taste what they could be, abloom.

a fresh leaf
always needs sunlight,
I want you

You see me seeing you. My fingertips reach for your extended hand. My wicked grin matches your knowing smile. We touch. We feel. We tremble. We are, abloom…

touch a bloom,
and feel his wilds spring
as you fall

.
a wee note…
– While keying random thoughts on my phone, I accidentally typed “abloom”. When autocorrect didn’t show its disdain, I flew to the dictionary (I knew the word had to do with blooming, but I wanted specifics). The dictionary said abloom means “in bloom; blossoming; flowering”. I like it… a lot. Naturally, I had to feed it to a poem (or three).
– Linked to dVerse ~ Open Link Night 200