Sunflower

I loved a sunflower once,

honey-scented, bright

and balmy near my skin-

so much so

that I ate it whole,

only to spit it out

into a bitter mess

of green and gold.

Then I loved a rose,

a sunflower-reminder,

but sweet enough to melt and swallow-

wildly-

so much so

that I plucked its stem

only to let it fall

into a prickly heap

of crimson ends.

And in the space

between crimson and gold

I renounced my love

for sunflower

and rose,

only to look up, to see

an endless field

smiling back

at me.