You loved me as a youthful flower,
but the floods came, divots of rivers
in my delta, stretch marks as I carried
our water babies, and we lost ourselves –

To the farm and fallow seasons, to tenderness
of years easing the spark, routine treachery,
but also? Softness, faith that my thorns and

Browning leaves would not deter you, and I
found, the Apollo of my laurel tree had turned
into a gardener, Asclepius – Father to Sun:
God to Healer, and I understand age, 
and reason

as our marriage, and I: have found God
in your arms, time and again, so when

my petals grow seeds, and I carry the fruit
of your fire into the sleeping soils, know this:
we live on in the roses and rain. 

And my Apollo?

This
was all

Worth
it.

The bark? The branches?

Your kiss.

[Allister Nelson is a writer of the fantabulous and darkest corners of the imagination. A psychonaut of the human mind, she loves imaginal realms and grew up with too much Tamora Pierce and Pratchett. She has been published by Apex Magazine, the British Fantasy Society, Eternal Haunted Summer, Luna Station Quarterly, and more. Find selected works at her site: allisternelson.com.]