Move slowly
so I may see you—
in morning light
fluttering past
wispy curtains
and tree pollen afterglow.

I will inspect you
close enough
and with attention to detail,
so I may read the thread count
on your blossoming pedals.

Do not be embarrassed
that your flowers are not real.
Your desire to be
is all that need be real
to afford my admiration.

written on 03/19/2010 by: Matt Kane