The Flower I Water Too Much
The Flower I Water Too Much
They say too much water drowns the root of the flower you love —
I pour the whole sky into her smile, wrung from my veins, like an eclipse,
and the world dims itself shyly, a lantern begging for its own darkness,
when she smiles, time bends, and the pollen falls backward, toward the stem.
Her laughter is a swarm of bees made of sound, caught in a honeycomb of clouds,
the clouds lean in, gentle thieves, to steal a drop of its wild honey,
and carry it across a sky like a mute map, drawn only out of echoes,
while I stay below, a castaway on an island made of her memory.
Her dimples are bottomless wells, carved into her cheek by a careless angel,
the compasses of wandering hearts lose their north and drown inside them,
a glance becomes a root, a thought becomes the vine that binds you,
and my eyes, rudderless ships, choose gladly to be lost.
It's unfair how a thing so small holds all the tides of the world inside it,
how one fine curve of lips turns a moment into living, pulsing amber —
I drift psychedelic through her dream, smoke that's lost the way back to its body,
and every ordinary minute freezes into a silent, precious stone.
So if loving a flower too much turns my sap into the flood that drowns it,
what do I do with this admiration that blooms on its own, every time she smiles?
I let it burn in me like a star already dead, but still giving light,
or I drown in her, knowing every beautiful garden carries its drought within.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
