we grow in towers and in hightides
and blossom with the coming of winter
in the anomaly of bittersweet outbursts
we find some comfort in woolen sweaters.
our lack of empathy, guarded
in the white cuffs around our necks;
there are tears meditating on your face, but
we cry rebellion
as you loathe in a forlorn corset.
our bodies loud, obnoxious
draped in the scarcity of summer
against your lissome,
we will always be a pitiful people
in the backdrop of your raw curtain.
flitting in caution, crude and unseen
behind a veil. how does it feel?
but to us, to stand expansive and explosive-
to dance in front of the hot, summer sun
to blind against the relent of the rain
and fall in love with the pollen seeding in-
is a sporadic ache we cannot live without.
in your growing belly, we see
a conversation waiting to happen.
begin with a sigh, but know
you’re a silhouette dying in our shadow.
Photo Credit: Giuseppe Milo (www.pixael.com) Flickr via Compfight cc
