... beauty ..., ... bee ..., ... country ..., ... girl ..., ... kiss ..., ... L.F. ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... Spring ..., ... summer ..., ... the South ..., ... written under the influence ...

she blooms

there is nothing humdrum
about her.

she lilts on
the edge of Summer, even when
Spring has only sprung. the trees
are scarcely draped in half
greens and timid hues of blue
bounce round and round
in the eternal depths of a
forest, with bark as black as night.

she holds me in the palm of
her tiny hands. should i try,
every bone and heart of hers
i could break with ease. bent reeds
ready to be snapped. smoldering wicks,
waiting to be snuffed. the Father
would never, but Daddy would.

she invades all the space
and her dandelion charms,
the promise of honey, the wisping
of a blonde breeze, in pirouette circles
i see the smile and sunlight erupts
from behind her teeth and the entire
green of the planet comes from
her eyes, where Summer – and its
frivolity, never sleeps. never stops
spinning.

she blooms right before my eyes
i am her bee

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