you bloomed into bluebonnets

you unclench your hand 
and as each finger falls 
a petal blooms 
from the center of your palm 
and you become a flower, 
a bluebonnet cradled 
between your knuckles,
as you brush it across my face 
each petal whispers of soft moments
along my cheek 
and my eyes close,
becoming a part
of your garden 
blooming from your body

queer phototropism

when i stroke your face,
petals blossom from my fingers

we bloom
into a garden of violets and lilacs

our breath whispers into the meadows
of our intertwined bodies

causing every stem to sway, bend
and braid with one another

Why I can’t shuffle cards

I am sitting on your living room floor,
watching you try to teach me
how to fold my fingers around a deck of cards to shuffle them
the way you learned how in eighth-grade choir class,
but I keep getting distracted by how the light
folds around your face and
the way your smile makes my heart ache
in the best kind of way
so each time I try, the cards spill out
from my hands like a tarot deck gone rogue
with frustration at its user ignoring all the signs
it’s been giving because it’s ready for me to,
as that crab in the mermaid movie says,
kiss the girl and stop stalling.
but I can’t stop watching you grin
and can’t stop listening to you laugh
long enough to bridge the space between us
and do so, so I’ll keep playing with cards
and throwing them across the floor
as long as you will keep trying to teach me
so that I can keep watching you