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thorns on freesia

she questions with cinderella's origin,
she sweeps and seeks love in forages.
the rising charity lasts until the tenth floor,
when you are to occupy the first, you'll be pleading for more.


to cut the numbers after ten,
a constant cycle of "we are just flawed men".
charity is true with a garden in my land,
but was it love that i was scared you wouldn't understand?


they love me like a garden with a fountain,
yet my economy drops to the lowest part of each mountain.
the greens are dull with flower-eating ravens,
that even freesias cry in their supposed haven.


our freesia grew thorns, i'm sorry.
being with you is a disease i inflicted on your army.
the beauty of our freesia may win the court,
let it prick you then you'll step back as we fall short.


these petals are soft, but their meaning bends.
how long until then we are no longer friends?
let the downfall of greek gods dry us too,
that you wouldn't yield if i was important to you.


love me like the promise to tend our freesia together,
and maybe speak to me as gentle as feather.
i still hold your hand when our ties are threatened,
so stop making me kneel for a generous second.


the culinary setting reside only in my floor,
could that be love or you have nowhere else to pour?
i can't smell of what you pledged to cook,
the walls that suffocate the air is what i could only look.


freesia does not grow thorns,
so in your love, please don't make me mourn.
i'll continue to tend to our infested garden,
and love is to care to the flowers with equal burden.

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