The rose petals in my skin,
Find themselves blushing,
It seems there is a rush inside of me,
Like a river over pebbles that collect in bundles,
The water changes direction,
It’s intensity, it’s shade of colour, it’s flow,
Performing a dance for the onlookers of water over bridges,
I am morphing,
Not only through growth,
But pockets of tulips have found themselves to bloom across my neck,
Morphing a caterpillar into butterfly,
Spring has come early,
These gentle pitter patter of seeds which lay over loose soil,
Watered every so often, given nutrition,
Gifted in love,
Find themselves growing stems,
It’s exhilarating ,
To experience this from the inside,
Yet,
I fear it can become an ache,
It is not my water to be showered from or to give water to,
This shift and melting of time and experience, slow and so familiar,
A bubble of pastime,
I already feel it in our laughs,
The forced disconnect of eye contact
A moment too long and it can be dangerous
These boundaries are not to be crossed,
Not here , not now, never,
I respect , too much respect ,
I am not yearning yet, luckily
But the tide is coming,
I must evacuate and put up the dams until the water is ready to run for everyone,
The moon is pulling me elsewhere for now,
I have been here before,
The gold was given to me last time,
It’s now time to cook with it.
There is freedom yet agony in the lotus flower,
Who sits on the surfaces,
Is admired, yet untouched,
And never held by the Lake for too long