he follows the labyrinth of my arteries and overgrows into them. he stretches for sun so green a waxy leaf cupping beneath my lungs which sway along with his stems drawing figure eights into air. he trails up my windpipe and flowers out my mouth, my lips finding color from the blossoms so delicate and yet they never break. his roots have found home somewhere beside my stomach. they anchor around my tailbone, a knot of trunk ridging around flexible bone bending to new shape. the vines of his extremities fill the shallowness, the cavity that sits between my collarbones suddenly satisfied

and as I steep into so much green I wonder why I ever tried so hard

to fight it.