Green Thumb

When our lips collided clumsily in the darkness on that creaky twin bed, our bodies parallel and our hands shaking, internally I experienced the Big Bang. A whole universe of technicolored peonies of emotion blossomed throughout my body and turned me into a walking garden. Since that night in early November of 2009, I’ve never been the same. We have experienced all of the seasons together, starting with Spring, when our young seemingly limitless mirth blossomed and the flowers you planted in my heart bloomed. We kissed the sky and praised the eternal Sun for shining on us and creating such a beautiful life. We experienced Summer. Passion boiled deep and carnal between us as we delved into the millions of miles of possibilities that our love held. Every inch of my body tingled from the fairy dust that your fingertips sprinkled out onto me with every touch; I didn’t even have to think of a happy thought in order to fly because my happy thought was you, and you were always near me. Then came Autumn. God damn, did we struggle to comprehend why the beautiful peonies and poppies that once blossomed every day for us had suddenly begun to wither. We plucked them all and hugged them close to our chests and screamed at the Sun as she set, “Why is this happening to us?” Little did we know that flowers should never be picked, just as a lover should not be possessed, but rather, appreciated and nurtured. Instead of holding onto each other and pressing our chests to one another, we were clinging to the flowers that we had lost. When Winter came around, the flowers had crumbled. I kept the remnants in my pockets and occasionally would hold the crisp petals between my fingers, remembering the way yours made me shiver with delight once. The technicolor world that your lips had unleashed became barren and dry. I no longer nurtured our garden because we had picked them all for fear of losing them. How did we not realize that we were the reason they were dying? We killed them, all of them. By some divine miracle, however, Spring came through once again. Your stunning legs carried you back into my garden, where I had begun to come and sit in just to feel the air that we once shared, and your strong, steady arms carried me inside. You said, “The Sun will rise again,” and you told me I was beautiful. As you promised (your promises never fail), it did. Once again we were intertwining our delicate fingers and holding each other so often that our heart beats no longer had separate rhythms. Those days have worn away. The world around me currently is Winter, and I am shivering. The flowers are still here (I’m not so naïve to make the same mistake twice) but you are not, and neither is our eternal sunshine. When we are not together, what does the Sun have to smile at? She has abandoned us as we have abandoned one another. I hope to see Summer and Spring, our old friends, soon. I hope that they carry you back to me with your freckled back and curly hair and that you still have that fairy dust tucked into the ridges of your fingerprints. I hope you are thinking of the night in early November where our breaths were shallow and our bodies awkward. I am always thinking of that night, of us, and of you: my one and only reason for gardening.



Just a note: this was written to be read aloud so the format is not exactly your "classic" poetry with verses and such.

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