Flowers

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

In the crystal vase, forgotten
on the corner table,
leaves curl and dry.
Delicate heads droop, nodding, and
darken against their own touch
until petals sigh and fall,
scattered confetti rustling across
a walnut plain.

The water milders, furry on the surface;
smells of swamp and bog belch, gases rising,
fetid miasma shimmering in cut-glass;
where once was freshness, sweet and clean,
now wilts a dank reminder that
all things might one day
diminish and wither,
fade.