Like flowers, we grow.
We sound how flowers sound.
Kinda… quiet. Lazily humming through winds and touching through rain.
We grow in rain and sun and warmth and light, only to be dug up and housed in the winter.
The guitar strums, as do your hands, i cant sing, but dance i shall.
Listen to the seedlings of your little sister behind a cup of something warm. She giggles and your eyes smile, like petals wide.
He loves me, he loves me not. Cliché as it may be.
Just move with me, please.
I beg for you like a flower does for water in 40 degree heat.
You are my flower, my shade, my sweetness, move with me, please.