Work Text:
You liked blooming
things. Whatever grew
attracted your touch.
On every planet a cut
flower in your hands; plants
seemed to call to you.
Illogical. Yet I watched you
more once I'd noticed. A bloom
of curiosity had planted
firm in me and grew.
No meditation would cut
it out. Kai'idth. A scientist’s touch
is what I’d use. Observe; objective, untouched.
I had not accounted for the variable you—
how your eyes would cut
across to me. The quick bloom
of easy understanding that grew
between us. Unbidden, something planted
itself in me, unplanned,
germinating, seeking your touch.
Nothing before had dared to grow
in the red dust soil of my desert soul, but you
saw through my walls, face blooming
with delight, seeing true to the heart of me, my self cut
free of artifice. It burned like human sweat in open cuts
to be so seen. At my roots, you had planted
yourself, unasked. Never and always — a bloom
of fear, facing the truth. My want. To be touching
and touched. Plucked. I could not face you,
despite how close we'd grown.
But you had always loved growing
things. Noticed even the smallest cutting.
You saw what had begun in me. How I turned to you,
heliotropic. You, the sun. I, unfurling; a green, uncertain plant.
Ashamed and craving your every look and glancing touch.
Saw, too, the thing between us, swollen aching bud, longing to bloom.
We’d grown together – though I looked askant – I couldn’t deny it: a hybrid plant
run wild, with roots that wend and clutch, reaching a place beyond words or touch
where we drink down each other yet are never consumed. I learned the truth there: when you touch me, I bloom.