She was born with bonsai petals on her feet;
she doesn’t think, doesn’t walk. She only grows.
There is nothing in me for her, subfrigid and
prone to breakage. She pulls the stems from
my wreckage, and crafts me a less stable seed.
She did the smart thing; we have to share this home.
what she says about tending to my garden
“Plants can have heart palpitations. They have organs
and bodily functions. When they die, they become
ghouls: the spirits of girls who gave too much in one
life to deserve a full animus in the next.
Structurally, she is stronger, but blood chugs against her
chest. I touch it; save her life. I love her now.”