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
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