Pollination

When we last met, your kiss danced on my lips like pollen 'round a recipient carpel. You watered my wilting petals and held chaste my stalk, drew me back with your supporting frame and saw me reach out for more.
When your hands last touched me, they danced on my skin like droplets of morning dew, caressing bouncing leaves on the beginning of a perfect morning. My body welcomed yours like hardened soil - excited by the notion of that first shower on a patch of an almost forgotten land, yet worried it’d lost the memory of what to do with the onset of rain.

The rain thumped gently at my surface soil, diffusing through my core. You waited, never forceful nor too gentle, you surrounded me with the natural rhythm of what used to be and sent a mist of olfactory past my outer layer. Your toil paid off, I opened up to you again and again, memory took over, nature took over, you brought me out.

I bloomed in the moonlight of your wake, I tilted towards your daylight sun, every breath of me sweeping through wonderful country breeze. My roots drank from the riverbank you left behind and my branches extended, my flowers blossomed, and hidden amongst the leaves of this tree fresh out of hibernation, is the fruit of your intent.

When we last met, it was nothing short of a miracle.

© May16thPhotography