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Sunday, February 19, 2012

Love and Houseplants

Would that I knew you better;
your face a smooth mask
and dark eyes so remote;
one glance,
can start me shivering.

The sophist argent symphonies
of unrequited love and desire
tempt me beyond measure;
who knows,
maybe you feel the same.

The plant on the windowsill
has bloomed its last bud
and trails sad, brown vines,
flung wide,
in the indignity of death.

Inches below its dry fingers,
above gleaming porcelain,
squats a dripping faucet;
hard reality,
to shrivel so close to life.

My mind wanders this truth
as my heart curls and browns,
I feel thirst consume me;
oh tell me, 
will I die for want of you?