my baby, soft and dreamlike. smooth reds, dark and velvet— dulcet. starry eyes honeyed brown as he swallows the moon full, silhouetted in purity. when his mouth opens, a lotus flowers from it— warm pinks and lilacs with sweet nectar embroidering his lips. i could paint him in his own palette and name it after his smile.
he is tentative; kind. he waters me, and i grow— i blossom because i love when he shines; my marigold sun tethering his rays around my lungs.
i could survive in a drought. i wouldn't wither. i wouldn't die.