Dandelions

You mustn’t know, but when you speak,
Your lips turn bloom, and you release
From murmured wells between your teeth
A cloud of dandelion seeds—
Invisible to all but me.

They glide on fever-summoned winds
And land so softly on my skin,
And find their roots so quick within,
As if that’s where they’ve always been.

But as they come, I must undo,
So everything that stays of you
Are empty tunnels for these roots,
And all the things I wish you’d do
Are dandelion dreams, not you.

By: Tanja Wagner