I’m thinking of gardens. I’m thinking of little patches of color interspersed between green leaves, stitched there by a spade and sun, blooming like buttons against thread. The wash of yellow petals dances on my skin from somewhere overhead, something so bright it can always be seen, always be felt. I’m thinking of perfumed buds that follow your steps, of air sweet and earthy, touching noses with butterfly kisses. I’m thinking of the same buds forming dew drops on my tongue, of nectared lips. I’m thinking of rushes, of gentle rustlings in brushes, of tinkling stones made smooth by a river’s discontent. I’m thinking of gardens today and letting a memory sow seeds in an untethered heart.
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