No one stays longer than you do.
A head and heart full of amethysts,
Each plucked from the rings you've stolen,
Each cutting deeper than the one before,
Not one clear enough to decipher.
I mull it over on my patio, in the blown smoke.
I am only pained rubble
From what was left behind of lovers
Unfit to hold my carcass.
Yet you show your face
At every one of my funerals.
A representative of protection and steadfastness,
The scent and sight of tall trees and red petals.
I am no less a child of longing,
Of naivety.
But I recognize each time the season
Of the blossom dies.
I just have yet to navigate the plight.
E.