Today I almost bought you flowers
yellow   (like the roses)
but suddenly all the flower shops had gone
and I was stood outside your window
penny in hand
          (for your thoughts)
like your hair.

The cruellest blow of all was that
you didn’t even notice the gift I hadn’t brought you.
You should have smiled graciously
said they were your favourite colour
and not to worry because you didn’t
have anything to put them in
But, feigning ignorance or something deeper
you chose to offer me your bed
        (with a laughter in your hair that left no room for roses)
                : then SOMEONE ELSE called and I faded
away as the flowers inevitably would have done
(so why bother?)

Pushing the penny like an old dream into my pocket
I wandered   head-full of promises
like fields of broken flowers   until I could no longer
tell how much I hated you for your indiscretions
(or loved you in spite of them)   or why
massacred   my soul did not bleed poppies


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