I was growing flowers for my soul when I met you.
There was a fire sweeping wildly around yours.
They blossomed toward your warmth.
You warned me not to get close.
The fires would ignite the delicate petals.
I only payed attention to the way the vines coiled toward your heat.
I realized to late I wasn’t ready to burn for you.
My posies turned to ashes,
but I couldn’t fall away.