Perennial

My heart is a perennial.

It blooms, rapid and beautiful and red.

I give it to you, and in your hands it wilts.

I give it to you, and I am empty.

I give it to you, waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting, to blossom again.

My heart is a perennial.

Fast to bloom.

Quick to die.

And slow to grow from what’s left behind.