Listen,

The two of us are from a bizarre forest
Full of bizarre trees
That all grew from bizarre seeds.

Birch pollen that decided
There was more to life than birch trees,
Maybe fell in love

With the curves in Maple leaves.
See, these seeds didn’t mind being bizarre
Because bizarre just looks like you and me,

And in this forest there is a clearing.
Where we plant our bizarre tree,
The only tree brave enough to say

“Fuck you, from today we rule this grass patch
as the King and the Queen!”
Ours will be the first to commit treason.

And it would change its colors to match our seasons
Every three months bloom a thousand more
Frost-bitten, sunkissed reasons for you to spend time with me,

Because ours would be a hopeful tree.
Bough arms outstretched,
Blue buds down to the cuff,

Our tree is no stranger to the birds and the bees.

Its goal is to touch the brightest fruit in the world.
It does not know if it will ever get there,
But it keeps growing anyway,

Ours is an understanding tree.
It gives what it can until it can’t.
It knows only enough to know it’s enough,
And if our giving tree gets tired of giving,
We’ll tell Shel Silverstein to fuck off

Because Giving Trees are overrated.
Bizarre seeds are never given chances,
We had to take them,

And that’s why ours is a proud tree,
The first mixed seed in
Our tree families’ family trees,

And let me tell you,
Our tree is teaching me things.
It taught me the color green.

One day, I tried scraping the bark clean,
But then I stepped back to admire its sleek moss sheen,
And like you, every day it grows on me.

I could never tell whether you were from or for heaven.
But if the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,
Paradise must be around here somewhere.

When my hands find shade in your hair
Think my fingers squirrels
Lost in your acorn curls.
And when you lean, lean in close.

Know here there are no
Consequences; our branches
are heavy with all kinds of forbidden fruits.

And let the others come,
the Paul Bunyans and the Johnny Appleseeds,
All the Snow Whites and their Dwarven wannabees,
Let them swing and let them reach,
And if they pick our fruit, let them eat,
And if they cut us down let them see,
All the history in our tree rings,
All the summers at the beach,
All the winters on the skis,
All the springs we squeaked,
And if our tree falls, who cares? so did we.
What’s love if not falling?
What’s love but a falling tree?

But I will admit,
Even I want to borrow a piece from our tree,
And use it to frame this poem in gold.
So one day when our tree grows feeble and old,
So tall our family won’t even recognize their roots,
Our story will make it,
all the way to our great great grandkids.

And you know our great great grandkids
Are gonna be great because
great fruit like grapefruit
like our first date fruit
like your always perfectly early fruit
And my always running late fruit
Are all such great fruits
and these great fruits
come from really great roots
and baby if you and me were a seed

we’d make such great roots.

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