When I watch golden, fluffy dandelions turn into white puffs in the wind,
I think of our finite days on our finite planes that have to finitely end.
But I don't have to wish on silver eyelashes for the tickle of your eyelashes against my skin,
And that's enough for my lips to stretch into a wide grin
That you feel against your teeth,
As your curled hands tug closer, to keep
My flower stalks firm and absolute,
Their pedals curling like pages of echoed notes hummed deep in their roots.
They remember songs of the rivers you raised them on,
And they will continue to after the sunlight's gone,
The night winds singing the melody you breathed life with.
They sing the songs that will carry my wispy dandelion puffs to your lips.