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.

The End

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