For the stoic gardener, your eyes impassive as a dzo’s, your lips the deepest shades of Azeyma’s rose, I write to thee. Your work outside the Mist’s Topmast goes ne’er unnoticed, your attentions spent on your craft are of the selfsame depth as mine eyes’ gaze on you. What I would give to be the flora drinking daily of your watering can, to hear your galoshes squelching on their daily approach to my plot. I confess it: my frequent visits to the Market Board are just a ruse! I’ve no economy to hear of, unless the riches of my love for you be coin. I simply wish to be always near, to hear the endless trickling of the water, tipped out by your generous hand. Alas, I fear you feel naught but for your trade. ‘Tis as if Nophica’s sweet song soundeth so strongly, so susurrantly, that you cannot shake free. Had I the Tenacity, the Determination, or the Mind to pull you gently away from it for even a moment, I would tell you all I am and all I have is yours. But, beautiful gardener, you simply water and water on.

Your Tulip (and two lips) in Waiting,

Demi Glace
Faerie

(Mandragora Choker)