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.


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