my love kisses me in recovery, he tells me I smell like flowers. 
I inhale the scent of a new casket spread, of freshly mown graveyards. 
These lily of the valley encounters: 

the long shadow of morning hours,
hospital bouquets with their get-well-soon cards,
my love kisses me in recovery. He tells me I smell like flowers.

I think of dying trees, leaves, and flower
petals. Once, I mistook autumn for spring as a child. 
These daisy and white lily encounters:

blooms of chemotherapy flowering,
deep roots within me, what are the odds
my love kisses me in recovery and tells me I smell like flowers?

The many hands that folded in prayer
have left me smelling of yarrow.
What a gift I have encountered. 

How blessed we are to have this time of ours,
my love and I, with our two brave hearts.
He tells me I smell like flowers.
I smile bright as a chrysanthemum.