Boot Girlfriend
The flowers of winter wither wildly
Petals drooping, dropping, falling down
down
down.
I pluck these rotting flowers from her ear
Her hair is stems, as are her veins
I smell the scents. Perfume.
Her boots are strewn over the antechamber
Slowly growing mold.
Despite my pleas, she
Would cut the flowers down, always
But they just keep coming, blooming
And wilting
The moon casts us in a strange glow
The white petals shine, shimmer
My room will be covered in her soon
If I am not careful
Copyright © Quinn K. | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment