"Have you ever dated a girl?"

He asked.

I wanted to tell him that

she grows flowers from her veins

and vines from her heart.

And about the ivy leaves

that sprout from her touch.

I wanted to tell him about

how the Black Eyed Susan manages to bloom with each kiss.

And about the Flowering Rush that enters my lungs

as she crushes her Honeysuckle lips on mine.

I wanted to tell him that

her hair smells like Poppies.

I hate Poppies;

but when people ask what my favorite flower was,

all I could utter was her.

Meadows and fields

Bleeding hearts and Forget-me-nots

Being called confused is a slide on my honor

and on my Petunias.

I wanted to tell him that

she was a sight to be reckoned with;

more breathtaking than any garden.

I wanted to tell him that

he was the first to know other than my journal.

I wanted to shout to the world,

but all I could manage was a Baby's Breath of an indication.

“No, I haven’t.”