Stomach Flower

The battle of vulnerability.

You handed me a flower.
It was small but pretty,
one we both knew I would cherish.

I wish I would have held that flower longer,
tasted it,
let it wash over me like a shower of gold.

The flower was laced with good intentions,
but still picked from its roots;
destined to spoil.

I love the flower you gave me.
I wanted to cry when it disintegrated in my hands.
The thoughts I would hear brewing in your mouth haunted me,
I wish I could pull the sincerity out of you like swallowed string.

Maybe deep in your stomach is where the flower grew,
a roommate to this tenacious twine and your half-kept secrets.

Maybe each flower is a piece of you, and that is why they are such a rare thing to have.
At least I like to think this is the truth.

All I know is that flowers are a nice gesture
but
their beauty is in their mortality,

and I don't want to make room for dying love anymore.

Reviews

[Shelley Warner]

Profound, sad, wonderfully described.

[1809 Black Plague Decem..]

aww, good morn, I love the development of the poem,
it was unexpected great write dear, :D

[Arundass TP]

Interesting poem. Enjoyed reading 🙂

[John the Baptist]

All things pass, but perhaps the passage of beauty affects us more profoundly. Nothing is sadder than a once full rose lying withered and strewn on a sidewalk.

[Throwing Romeo]

I liked everything about this.
Im a dandelion eater...
Who also likes brilliant
writing...

[Relic]

...........................BEAUTIFUL!