My Weeds

You hold it, have it,

but do not hang it

over me. You tuck it

away in a careful

corner of your heart,

remember that it's there

but hide it

as one of the

many promises

we made to each other.

You keep it

so I cannot touch it-

cannot look at it

or feel its cold reminder.

You soften the sting,

hidden from the world-

myself even.

You saw my weeds

and you gathered them,

bouqueted them,

owned them, watched

them bloom

and for that

I will always love you.