Language of Flowers

I speak the Language of Flowers.
I open my mouth
and petals blossom on my tongue.
Sweet smells lick you,
silken leaves flutter
from my eyes and you
cannot help yourself.
I speak the language
of letting go,
of burying our dead and
harvesting life from their graves.
I speak the language of flowers
growing strong and
thickly scented,
stretching to the sun,
already knowing
they are beautiful.
I speak the language
of us.
*originally published on Middle Places
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