What grows in my garden.

She is hibiscus tea
quenching my soul,
pink then a deep red,
lips puckered -
she blooms before me,
lining my veins with a
garden far more desirable
than Eden.

I miss the way we could
cross oceans together,
simply by saying nothing,
riding waves of uncertainty
yet held together by the
idea that we could conquer
anything, anyone.

There are specific things
I’ll always remember her by:
strawberry and vanilla scented
skin, the way she cradled
that precious typewriter
wherever she went
with a smokey, sultry touch.

But what I miss the most
is the promise that we would
be in each other’s life.
And I am not blameless.
I willingly walked away
from her.
Seasons changed and I
grew pettiness like a flower
that would only seek
to curse me.

I left because she was in
love, but not with me.
I knew she cared
yet still I wonder if our
impetuous kisses
were just summer memories
built on lust
or something more.

I walked away, thinking that
she would be the only one
who I could possibly open to,
not realizing the world was
bigger than the garden
she and I tended to

in the confines
of our minds.

__________
Another poem to Kim.
Written on 5/19/18