you found me in the most desolate of locations
an arid desert around my cactus heart
sustained from nectar reserved from sweeter times
i've been in pots before
a beacon of strength and survival on a dirty bedside table
easily neglected
eagerly blooming in the humidity of that suffocating place
but winter always comes
and i am tossed with my dead blossoms
only my needles to protect me
sharpened by drought
then you-
a raging underground spring flooding my roots
you didn't dig me up
you enriched the land around me turning my sand to soil
grew for me my own garden
and said in your rich, liquid voice
'perhaps it is time you became a rose'
