I didn't plant the seeds.
I expected brilliant buds to bloom and blossom.
I anticipated swarms of bees to spread the pollen and do half of the labor for me. In theory, this plant would yield petals upon petals, reaching for the stars from sturdy stems.
It's called phototropism when the flowers grow towards the source of light, and I was the sun.
This plant pleaded for my water yet never needed my rays. Through my unconditional passion, I conceived a blind plant. The roots where intertwined and double knotted as to avoid any usage of insufficient nutrients.
Who was really blind? I found myself drowning a cactus.
I'd bred a plant whose buds attracted me psycho-actively. What was I in love with?
I didn't plant any seeds.
It's called thigmotropism when the plant grows amongst an object-a wall, a boulder, fence.
My heart was an obstacle that these stems traversed and encompassed, rejoining after devouring. Her leaves deceived.
I gave rise to a plant with pretty petals but I never plucked. Pollen was poison.
One day, I'll ask her: If I would've planted the seeds, an inch apart, in a pot hand crafted from the heart, would you have...would you have...
Would you have grown for me?