Spoiled flowers— 

weep your wilt
on me.

Brown tears
streak my throat,
caress me—
my languid grief.

Boughs swayed 
when I looked for you—
silver leaves—
flashing
lost memory.


Petals—
drop,
my knotted wounds—
bathe my limbs,
your barren spores. 

I plucked one—

inhaled the rot.

You felt alive
in dying blooms.