Tender stems dare not risk another bleed.
They water their own flowers.
Yet the ache it does not feed.
The hunger of desire.
In the hush, subliminal messages soak each petal.
Unopened buds swell in anticipation of hands that
softly peel back the layers of dead leaves.
This ache has no logic.
It can’t be cut out by the roots.
Tender stems long for warmth, yet they fear burning in flames.
Still, they know that the only cure is fire.
And no amount of rain will satiate what they crave.
LatinosUSA 
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