Fervently Lived, Furiously Loved

In his outstretched hand,
My dear offered me a bouquet of sunflowers—
They were dead.
Those little jewels in earth’s crown
Had once stuck up their noses
And mimicked the sparkle of their
Mother in the sky.
They had once looked down upon us
From lofty stocks,
Flaunting their golden mane
As pollen coiled like fairy dust
In the air,
Every short moment fervently lived, and furiously loved.

And here they were, wilting
Between his long, piano fingers.

I loved him for this.

Their fragrance was sweet
And tinged with honeycomb
Wisdom,
And their color was faded but
Evidence of hot-blooded days
Of freedom.
And the story they told was
Everlasting and unaudited,
Fermented with the truth of time.
As they dried I read every pedal
Like a page, soaked in the depth
Of every crinkle,
And felt the tired satisfaction
That had come from a short life,
Fervently lived, and furiously loved.

They were not a gift you see,
They were a proposal, and
They were a promise.
To bless the world in graceful death
Is enough—
But in the little time we have,
I want to live with you
A life fervently lived,
And furiously loved.