small white flowers

I gather experience

like small white flowers.

I call them choices.

This choice is tall, dark and

desperate to be needed.

That choice has young big wisdom;

his smile makes me smile,

and we agree on everything.

The one to the left

is older than the rest;

he has money and status.

His steady hands express

a lemon peel.

I delight him.

My favorite has the softest skin,

the reddest lips and broadest hips.

she is kind and stubborn

and knows who she wants to be.

I kiss her gently.

I hold them tightly

and look for water.

Their fragility terrifies me;

I beg my clumsy fingers

not to break them.