In the soil of my soul, a seed is sprouting.
In the deepest fathoms of my heart
Beneath the layers of thought and pretense
Just past my last measures of logic
An affection is birthed, soft and fragile.
Days begin to slip out of my fingers
Raining, pelting my soul with life.
I watch over that seed
Holding my breath with the sting of a hand grasping the monkey bars.
Dangling.
Waiting.
