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.
AW
No comments:
Post a Comment