Look, don’t touch, my misty soul,
for once it has been clasped,
but take my heart and take it whole,
take it full and fully grasped.
Bless me with a loamy implore,
parting your grassy plumes.
Take my heart and bury it in yours:
only then may it bloom.
Then, deep within that fertile earth,
seeds from behind my breast,
lilacs burst a feracious birth,
sprouting inside your chest.
And soon our garden will be full grown,
fertilized by our hands,
a sanctum and shrine all our own,
our love flowering the land.