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From the very moment I met her,
She stole my breath away.
Seedlings rooted themselves in my ribcage,
And sprouted fresh Tulips.
They blossomed rolling waves of violet,
Nurturing spring’s sweet butterflies.
It was the day my hand grazed hers for the first time,
Passing notes that fluttered with my heart.
Her cheeks were flushed a rosy hue,
As bruised lips swelled to a pout.
Her eyes reflected a serene calamity,
Yet curiosity would ripple its waves.
When I saw her again,
She became my sun.
The flowers in my chest stretched higher than before,
Replaced by summer’s Marigolds.
Amber petals tickled my lungs,
And kissed promises to my heart.
It was when I gave her my first kiss,
Although it wasn’t hers.
Her tongue knotted with sweet nothings,
While every word she spoke sweltered with heat.
She laced her hands with mine,
A new ambition in her soul.
Although I could call her mine,
She still loved herself more.
Autumn’s frosted Daffodils numbed the back of my throat,
Grown from the sadness in my soul.
The butterflies in my stomach were long gone,
Their wings ripped off by the one who put them there.
It was the first time I felt alone,
Suffocated by what I thought was love.
She would always bound ahead,
Far enough to leave me yet close enough to please.
Despite it all I still loved her,
Bounded by a lonesome yearning.
When I got the courage to leave her,
She shone brighter than before.
Winter came and killed her flowers,
Yet frigid Pansies clouded my mind.
Even now I choke,
The last of her petals falling to my feet.
It was when I cried for the first time,
Stilling my beating heart.
Her love was bountiful,
Yet only for herself.
When it ended I held myself in my own embrace,
Teaching myself how to breath again.