by Gabriel Wadford

my lover tells me
stop picking the
honeysuckles from
your head or nothing
will grow. it’s not
my fault      how
sweet the flowers
taste, petals tickling
my nose as i suck
them dry, but for
you and your little
eyes that pierce like
the rain, i will sacrifice
this mouthful of
stems and let alone
this garden for your
fingers to roam.

Gabriel Wadford is a writer living in Brooklyn, New York.