The Gardens

There are violets, Growing under your skin, Casting galactic shadows, Mixed with the dandelions, Tangled in. The roses are blossoming, Through the cracks in your skin, Slowly dying, Wilting, Petals falling, Cascading down your imperfections, Kissing the wounded parts of you, Trying to heal, In the morning a daisy grew, By nightfall, A garden flourished, In the hollows of your cheekbones, And the shadows under your eyes But no matter what metaphor you use, To make everything sound beautiful Everyone knows it's flesh, And it always will be. At night, When everyone is asleep, You're wide awake, Picking flowers for him.