My passionfruit vine is a beautiful mess.
Tangled branches intertwine like hand-woven lace,
or labyrinthine yarn, with spindly, skyward stretching arms
arching their muscles in an ecstasy of aubergine fruit,
born of the laughter of happy shoots,
and the gentle caress of windblown leaves rustling up against one another
in the privacy of a quiet backyard.
You and I. What a beautiful mess…
Tangled arms weave like lace, making a labyrinth of stories
on one another’s palms with lines like vines we recall and forget,
caught in the laughter of happy moments
and the gentle caress of a soft kiss, on a stubbled cheek
in the privacy of a quiet moment.
The fruit to come? Who knows!
But the vine seems strong, so we’ll see how she grows.