If I could flavor you I would call you ocean,
salted softly, in borrowed beauty
relfecting what I want to be.

If I could name you, you would be summer

cottonwood floods in cool straw laces.

If I could hold you, it would be like fireworks,
unrully,
beautious,
dangerful.

I must teach myself to let you go,

so up in the air you might explode

into all that you were meant to be

star flakes risen without me.