All That I fear

All that I fear
nests on the
apricot of his lips.

The way he would
hold a hand to flowers and
bloom a bouquet of
all I am and
all he wanted me to be.

Though I never spoke of
Gardenia stems knotted,
nor butterflies released
from an iron cage.

Instead I chose to
only love in November,
touch spring with
summer and
present his heart
with winter -

picking petal by petal
from an illusive bouquet.

For this was
all I could offer,
and all I could never be.