Wilted Flower–

Did I take the spirit from our love 

when I plucked you from your bed last night

 and placed you in a vase so carefully

 and stuck you high upon a shelf for all the wold to see

 how much I loved thee. 

Should I have rather less randomly 

yanked you by your thorny stem

 and left you in the garden

 among the Jaqards, Buttercups, and Peone? 

I did not mean to crush your spirit 

When I pressed you between the pages of my life

Nor when I laid you down upon my pillow

And unfolded your delicate petals against my skin 

That the lingering sweet scent that wafted from the sheets

Would be the last and cause such sorrow

Nor did I know that when it was time for me to go

And I lay that fleeting kiss upon your cheek 

That the night would flow—so fast 

From our memories that neither you nor I 

Would ever know each other again 

And then you wilted there where I left you

And in my haste I lost the reason I put you there

My tinky little friend 

Nor that this final gasp at love 

would be my end.

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