if we cut all flowers
would others one day bloom
or would our springs
become a desolate thing?
it’s easy to reason
that scissors are to blame
rather than a hand
to hold them still
or mind which wields
cold steel — and so
willingly, too.

(mostly) short poems on life and love
writer, dreamer, lover, seeker. labels never reach the heart of any matter, but they might be a place to start...