There are wild orchids now, bright fuchsia and two bees hovering around me or maybe my coffee rich with cream, vanilla, cinnamon. And the Japanese maple that stood bare three weeks ago lush with leaves that appear to be floating. Little hands, maroon and green wanting to caress my cheeks. The mulch beneath my feet as I step into the garden. I’ve been beckoned, my hand extending to the delicate branch and yes, the leaves tickle my face in just the way I anticipate. Do I hear them laughing with me? I used to feel an urgent sadness in the flowers, like why couldn't I be as fragrant and charming? Well, I am of a different breed but no less miraculous. I used to be too clever to appreciate the beauty of a flower, of me. You tell me I am the smart one in the relationship. I disagree, but I know what you mean. I love how we compliment each other and we are each others’ complements. I feel what love means. I feel how I want your hands like I want the soft leaves of the Japanese maple. I see truth and beauty and I feel it through the whole of me. I see the cherry blossoms begging to be kissed, like my lips. And they can’t fuck me like you do, but I can make love with them in your absence. Though I mostly feel your presence everywhere and in my hips. And listen, I’m not trying to say anything. I’m just telling you how it is.
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xx Faye ❤
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