Reach

Is the body but a metaphor
led by desire?
Where what seed has so
quietly slept in me that
you so knowingly planted?
That in Spring might
break the hull and reach,
for what is this heat that pulls me
from my hibernating state
and begs that I might open?
As though a flower in the sun,
and oh, how I would so willingly
be intoxicated by your love.  

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