Everything was a flower.
The air was the calyx.
The earth, the stem.
The Stars were filament tips,
And deep inside the calyx were your hands, leading me to the edge of the water to breathe in the morning together,
blossoming, burning, diving with the sun in the resting sea.
And here we are, now, watching the wind gently ruffle the cypress rows like a quiet sigh.
They stretch out tall like eager stamens,
while the perianth closes around us,
and we drown.