I steal facts
from your history
As if they were secrets at a factory.
And annoy the gardener
at your father’s house
every time the machines rumbled,
Moaned, or cried.
When the leaves have fallen
and sprung again
I can feel them
just the same way
I felt your soft breath on my neck,
the last time we kissed/ made love.
Only this time
the opportunities are low
and I have allowed this transition
from touch to just the wind that touches my skin.
What do I know of love,
Except that you, my love
are the flower that takes the longest to bloom.