Blossoming: a love poem




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I noticed Spring today,

its green stubble showing

after a long winter of not shaving.

Soon the bare branches will fill

and the sky will grow heavy with green.

I love the Spring,

but it is a private love,

something that stirs inside my bones,

shiveres in my spine,

and vibrates my fingers.

It embraces me in the morning

and holds me in its arms,

as if I too was a bare branch

waiting to bloom,

to blossom into something more than I am.

My flower is a smile,

my rain is you.

Feed me.



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