Laura

I know the stale apartment resigns itself
but the flowers smell so good.
That renouncing hapiness should be the only form of finding bliss
and you have been away for so long.
but the flowers smell so good.

roots break, bones and calous hands
have nothing to say.
you and I have nothing to say.
but, when I come home,
the flowers smell so good

I look at planes and flying saucers
my heart is a plastic bag in the last scene.
love is like staying,
love feels like that moment when you don't go.
love is traffic and family albums
love is the bathroom towel and a seasaw
when I need the swings.
And the broken spinner hangs around.
but the flowers, they smell so good.

They might be dead,
torn out
thorns cut off by hungry men
mixed by colors rotting slowly and beautifully
making worms wait.
They may be dead already
they may have died a thousand years ago
when we met.
They have been dead before it all began
yanked out of ocre earth by heavy hands
soul-less, wing-less, rest-less
dead and gone.
but, god, why then,
do they smell so good?