Gardening

I am an innocent.

My flower is my own

Unopened but ready to bloom under the right attention and adoration.

And he shows me that proper care.

He is the sun in my life and

The cultivator of my dreams and my desires.

And when he lays me down on the lush grass

In that field of bluebonnets,

He kisses my freckled skin with his full lips.

I feel the thrill of anticipation coursing through my blood

And pooling in a secret place.

He is preparing me for pruning

Alas, before any flower can grow to fruition,

It must experience the sting of trimming.

So, when he feels I am ready,

And he slips the tip of himself through the silky folds of my petals,

He distracts me from the sharp burn

By whispering how fragrant I am,

How he dreams of my aroma,

How it’s better than any rose he’s ever known.

When his fingers touch and rub and circle me,

I shake and squeeze and pull,

Desperate to take him deeper into the heat,

Until we fall together under star-dotted sky.

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