a romantic would give you flowers for your name
then flow smoothly, subtly
with brook bubbling brave-ity.

i heard that lilies are more comfortable
in still water, but not because of, or on

regression is origami intricate.
paper petaled, i grow delicate
stems to be undeniably

i heard that flowers die too,
and it wouldn’t be ironic if i
made my truths
in concrete.

would that be pockmarked, brutalist and beautiful to you?

because it runs down my nerves
like cauterizing
past and molten glass:
it gums up my throat
with toffee lies
i’ve chewed this last

i caress it to sand. i need the practice.
so i guess i’ll just ask organically.



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