The petals wilt, as petals often do,
mildewed and loose they coat the window sill.
The lovers leave, as lovers often will,
it's just their way. There was a man I knew,
but never mind, I've known too many, too
many to care. The petals wilt and spill.
Thinking about it now can make me ill
and blue, how can we know who will be true?
I don't know why I'm asking you, just nod
and water dying plants. I do not need
your pity, for I am a dwindled god
or some such former strength, I've made men plead,
oh please don't stare at me. The lovers leave
like wilted petals we will sit and grieve.