8. Orchids


I have killed all of the orchids inadvertently
Their brown tips piling up by the window

It is the saddest thing,
we are all but dust, coughed up by the gods
how we are just flesh, bone,
and easily removed
How tragically we fall like unkept flowers to
the ground

All of my loves have been massacred in this way
Every soft dream yanked from my bed

It does not matter what I hold for you in
this life
for it will end and
you will never know how deeply I carried this thing

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