The kisses you'd plant upon my nose
would blossom with vibrancy in my eyes.
Stems of promise twisting down to toes
that curl in sequence below bough-like thighs.
Soft branches of bark support these,
in dewey moss to keep me warm -
happy company with your limbs, and trees
that occupy the expanse around my form.
Yet roots so weakly grown, from flowers
cut in vase as proof of trusted lie,
grow pale in insubstantial love of ours
and with weeping beauty, die.