We didn’t walk away with flowers
in our hair. We were decorated
like overgrown fields, not brides.

You carried them in your ears.

Their roots took hold of your eardrum,
shattered it. I bet the church bells
haven’t stopped thundering over

and over, like breathless leaves.

I hung mine in front of my eyes

like mistletoe. This meant that I
longed to kiss everything
in sight, all at once, press
my lips against the flesh of air.

The stems have kept my voice
in a choke-hold. I haven’t dared
to speak of anything else.