Gardener by Flora Ferrari

Our previous gardener was just like a lawn mower…difficult to get started, emitting foul smells, and not working half the time.
But not him.
He’s hung like a horse, and when I catch him out of his Jockeys I know this is one giant snake that’s welcome under my garter belt anytime.
I put my palms all over him, and he grabs my bulbs as he turnips the heat. Our tulips meet. He goes upsy this Daisy, but wants to pull out and leave a mucky patch on my tummy. I beg for his seed and he plants his cummin my flower bed.
It’s out of character for me and my face turns radish…I don’t want him to think I’m some hoe.

He calls me his pumpkin, and I know we’d make a swell pear, but he’s my dad’s best friend…squashing my hopes and dreams.
My dad won’t lettuce see each other, and we cantaloupe.
But he’s the apple of my eye, and I’m his peach, and he says my dad will see how much we carrot for each other in thyme.
My heart beets for him, and he says I’m going to be his honey forever…and he’s a man who knows what he wants and will do whatever it takes to make me HIS!