If you ever give me a bouquet,
don't let it be roses, or lilies, or violets,
but weeds.

Give me a crown of white clovers,
prick my fingers with milk thistles,
sprinkle oxalis on my shoulders,
and blow me wishes on dandelions.

I want love like weeds.
Love that always comes back no matter how many times it's uprooted.
Love that can grow in the most difficult places:
between cracks in lifeless stone, in forgotten yards behind broken down homes,
on exhaust-filled roadsides.
Love that fights to live,
even if it means pushing aside delicate daisies and tender tulips.

So if you want to show me you love me,
give me weeds.