I Am Not a Gardener

she stood in a city of grass that had been decaying for decades.
her petals a lavender-gold infused fuchsia,
as if acting as a portal
to witness the very energy of the universe come into play
during her creation.
there had never been another flower like her,
but she wasn't a flower.
she was a girl with the world's eyes
and a voice as sweet and intoxicating
as the cherry wine hozier was singing about.
her words were enticing and she spoke with an upbeat compassion
I have yet to see elsewhere in my travels.
she gave life to everything around her
and asked for nothing in return
and for as long as I'm alive,
I will want her smooth skin next to mine in a field of her kin.
what a shame it is
that she feels like just another dead blade of grass,
what a shame.
she is the sun and the moon to me,
all encased in the petals of a flower I water every day.

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