i tend a flower garden
of multi-hued anxieties
full budded brooding
with baby’s breath
depression
on moon dappled stems

the twinkling
flickers of light
the sullen reminders
of love’s faded embrace
as perfumed paralytics
drift on the lonely breeze

i tend a flower garden
that grows across
the cemetery of my mind
where every interred corpse
of puerile infatuation
spins in six foot vivisections

a part time florist
with a penchant for
killing the things he loves
with hooded eyes
that hide an excess of absence
and two blackened thumbs