Thick Leaves

You fell from my favorite constellation,

and plucked me from an overgrown garden.

The soil was stale, and my roots had too much carbon.

You hacked through the thick leaves protecting my frail skin, then

proceeded to place me in a heart-shaped vase, tucking

me behind your heart-shaped organ.

You risked your life to save me from

the winter frost, sacrificing everything

regardless of cost. You injected my soul

with substance, making me impossible

to see through. You may have fallen

for me, but I will forever

rise for you.

Sparks cascaded around us,

as fireworks enveloped our bed.

The moon hung low, using her toes

to paint portraits of our sleepy heads.

We laid still, forehead to forehead, lips to lips.

The sun begged to rise, jealous of what he

might miss. Our bodies parted, only

to become entangled. The stars

fell into our kitchen, eager to

feast on the strips of bacon

and four eggs, scrambled.