plastic flowers

Posted on | July 5, 2009 | No Comments

rain streaks the windowpanes,
making crisscrossing lines,
much like the furrows,
on your forehead,

remember the day,
nineteen butter flies came to our room,
thirty seven blazing yellow suns,
painted on thirty eight black wings,
fluttering,feathery,soft,
balls of fire streaking across the room,
there was one that sat on your dressing table,
worrying your perfume,
decieved-

did you remember,
the plastic flowers,i once bought you,
to set on a vase,on a coffee table,
because they wouldn’t wither,ever-
fake symbols of an itinerant reality?

the raindrops drive themselves,
against the wall,breaking,
in the futility of their efforts,
drawing lines,creating maps of their failures,
much like the lines we put-
on each others’ foreheads…

Similar Posts:

• lines
• summer
• strange interlude

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