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