Frozen, caught amid
too-eager birdsong,
you’re staring,
her bloom
in slow-motion,
too quickly,
too violently;
skin gives way to thorns,
blood turns to nectar,
petals burst from her lips,
roots from her feet,
buds from her stomach,
and she’s glowing
in the sunlight
while you shed your layers,
your winter numbness,
your bitter restraint,
your frigid denial.

Her warmth
makes you cry,
where you lie
on the damp earth.

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