I stopped noticing the wildflowers
that bloomed for me.
I was busy writing poems for a mimosa
that opened up at my touch
but didn't bloom for me.
And that's okay.
All that matters is that
the mimosa now blooms on its own.

Me? I'm going back
to the wildflowers. I'm going home.

-

I am that 'touch me not' plant of which leaves will bloom after getting touched by you

-

The best stories are like
mimosas inhabiting your backyard.
A gentle touch is harsh enough
for its tiny leaves
to swiftly curl
like excerpts refusing to unfurl.
Let them grow wild
and your orchard
promises to reward you with
the scent of its blooming flowers.

-

She was but another mimosa,
Withered; only to the eyes of
some witless louts

-

His presence is the stimulus which makes her eyes droop as a response like the leaves of mimosa pudica.

-

"Mimosa pudica"

She blossoms
Like a porcupine.

She says "do not
touch me"

her leaves are
too shy.

"Touch me not"

-

Years after, i find you.
That lush green freshness in you,
Just like wings set to make you fly away.
But instead,
my one touch makes you shy away.
Dearest touch-me-not plant,
lucky am i not to get a chance to relive my childhood dream!

-

Love should be eternal enough
to turn a mimosa into sunflower

-