• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 04

Disappearing Flowers

Grazing in fields of butter
not flowers;
I'll fuze you to the ground,
in grass that's sticky,
wet -
topsy turvy baby.
Blue jeans
brown stains,
petals in your ear
and up your nose -
its a relationship made more interesting
flipped upside-down.
Does it matter
that the grass here
isn't real,
and everything is paper,
fleeting,
slowly fading
into sepia tones -
the disappearing flowers
like the light behind my eyes,
vanishing,
beneath a murky sun.
1

Disappearing Flowers

When it becomes apparent
that one of us is sweetly pink
with misplaced decay,
you'll turn to papier mache,
crafted swans,
and shrunken ships
from trees and hands -
branches sprout leaves of mossy green
and purple buds
pucker
before your watchful eye -
its hope,
knowing what you've lost
and what you've left to lose,
that encourages
this reversal of wilting -
back to upside-down again,
we are content
in man-made gardens
and the smell of disappearing flowers.
2