Like A Flower
“Like a flower she grows
in brick-cracks and lonely lanes,
on windowpanes, and city streets…
fragrant and tender, as pink as
the underbelly of a flamingo.
Like a flower she smiles at the sun,
yawns and winks if carelessly plonked
into flowerpots… and floats
atop chipped long-neck vases.
And just like a flower
in confined spaces.
She holds on for dear life
to wispy blades
of sodden grass,
she dreads trampling feet,
and when muddied with strange secrets
drowns herself in forgotten baths.
The mildewed flower-book
carries the dried remains of her past.
Her essence lingers
on his fading coat-lapel,
and rained-on garden chairs.
Like a flower she bends and
quivers in the storm…
he loves me or loves me not
all coy and nimble like
a bushel of blushing blossoms,
beginning to fill with colour.
Like a flower she wilts as she lives
an eternity in a season,
and even after a thousand soft kisses
stolen from the lips of birds, butterflies and bees —
a distant memory of her lush summer…
she searches for love
over the wintry graveyard.”