Idiot Sprouting

Maybe I didn’t know what love was until I met you:
Maybe it’s a cherished type of insanity, or
A point in time with nothing before, or after;
A red-hot coal in the throat, or
A churning stomach when you mention another man;
Love is not smelling the flowers,
Love is burying the scent in raw earth,
Love is the idiot sprouting, the beautiful blossom,
The splayed seedpod, the empty stalk.
Maybe I didn’t know what love was until I met you,
Maybe I was better off before.

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