You Make Me Bloom Erich von Hungen As you pass, my branches reach. I throw apples round your feet. You make me bloom and sweeten into them — into them and more. Stop, stop and eat. I see you, and I scatter oranges out of season, scented swags every day. My fingers turn to figs, when you approach softly singing — to berries, to pomegranates. For you, I am a garden. Stop and pick. Stay. Take my shade, at least […] Continue Reading
