blooming

the world is made of wildflowers
and you and i bloom in it.

or maybe i am made of wildflowers
and you bloom in me.

or it’s the sun, and we lay open, exposed and vulnerable,
hearts beating, breath drawn in
waiting to bloom.

This entry was posted in a rain of apples, poems and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *