Barren

I recoil.

I have always been fond of curly hair
and rosy lips;
and certainly a heart as beautiful as hers.
She, my muse tonight, conjures
this seed on my palms
to plant and grow in my
most intimate of fields.
But knowing that
you burnt with abandon
my fields,
nothing grows for now,
from planting this seed of love,

I recoil.