Little Dandelion

I suppose you were right
to call me that-
I fit the lion’s tooth well.
My animal bite, at all you try
Tears apart love and
Consolation. So all I see
is the debris, unrecognisable
as your affection.
So yes, a lion’s tooth,
but a cub at that, you see.
Not yet grown,
Not yet confident;
My roar does not assume,
But a mere whine
For your attention.
Little dandelion, indeed.

All the same,
I tremble every night,
I am fragile, but you know that-
One blow too hard
I’ve fallen apart,
Now how to pick up the pieces?
Reassembled, but not
Truly complete- never the
Yellow florets again.
Only quivering stems,
Trying to hold tight,
Little dandelion, indeed.