A Maybe Love

Every time I look
into a man’s
abyss of eyes
in his kaleidoscope
pupils reflecting
rainbows from
the spring rain,
I become
a cactus withering
from flood of
rainwater drowning
roots and smothering
lungs in a long exhale.

I was once a sunflower
ascending my petals
toward the heart-stone
path leading to
the sunlit sky,
an oasis of warmth
trickling through
my fingers
and dripping honey
from my own lips,
naked and free.

I long for face
collecting the stars
and turning my
head toward
the sunlight
rising and falling
like the sun,
my flower
blooming
into ultraviolet rays
tanning
my brown body.

Now, men scare me.
I fear letting my petals
fall like rainwater
and him sucking my roots dry.
I understand love
is a thorn in exterior
like a cactus
that I have transformed
to protect myself
from abyss eyes
promising
a maybe love,
a maybe like,
and a maybe dream.

Men are the nightmares
I dare not to dream
for love is only
existent in friendship,
a distant connection,
a one-night stand,
that is all a man
can understand
to me.

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