Bloom

I like things that bloom. 

Like ink pens 

when you touch their tips to paper 

and the ink bleeds and spreads 

and plays across the page 

like miniature modern art. 

I like things that blossom. 

Like your smile 

that opens so easily across your face 

in response to my every move 

like opening a window to the inner you 

and seeing a better world there. 

I like things that bloom. 

Like our love which seems to grow, 

blissfully unchecked like a wild vine 

reaching into every corner of my once lifeless heart 

that now bursts with joy and color. 

I like things that blossom. 

I like things that bloom. 

I like to believe 

these things will never wilt. 

These things will never fade.