from the sun

you can be a butterfly, or a moth,
you are a flower, and the sky
blue oceans, fresh grass,
books, naked poetry, beds,
tea, paintings, colours,
you are lavender, the stars, ice cream,
you are all lips and hands and
fingers and feet and skin and bones and
flesh and blood
you are all these things– no,
you are everything
but you are none of these.
i have thought of you as a metaphor
so much and for so long i have
lost the ability to remember,
and if you are a carnation
i have forgotten the roots
of all the metaphors
i hide you behind.


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