White glares on the perfection of a love whole

but is this shelter around fragrance and desire

a foreign thing with crooked teeth still biting

at the petals we peel away with shaking hands?

Look into my center when you pull and pluck

each lip of sensuality curving to your fingerprints

each tender darkness revealed in the folds I open

for a display of the passion we keep under glass

no matter if it is upon gold that we place this thing

this thing we created with the watering and light

orange-colored promises left on our silent tongues

where words fade into the black of what might be

in other times and places where impossible gardens grow

into the walls of glass we surrendered to the break of day

no longer a trapped beauty with tears the color of blood

but a free bloom with hearts wide and going on for miles