near or far, my heart
will always be yours to hold
handle it with care

When I encounter,
Your bold hand,
Reaching out to me,
The passionate desire,
Brings me to my knees.
When we touch,
Forget me not,
The softness of a daffodil,
The innocence of a daisy,
The humility of a lily,
The connection of an iris.
The tiny, little seed,
Has grown to be,
Beautiful and strong,
Like the trunk of a tree.

I hope I die in summer

on a humid night
when the grass is yawning and stretching out
toward the moon,

and the frogs are croaking on
like a chorus of metronomes
as the last curls of life wisp away from my body,

a final reminder
that things and time
will continue beautifully,

harmoniously,

without me.