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.

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.