I liked watching their arms reach
Through the slats of my blinds.
Petals drinking sunlight that seeks
To prolong a lifespan cut and tied.
O’er days, the flowers grudgingly wane
Away, but the drying phloem remains
Persistent and hopeful. A prognosis
Meant nothing to roses.
Needle I pull from wilting gingham
And brown thread from tangled spool
Run through the stale chrysanthemums.
Crackling-dry petals collect & curl like tulle.
Festoons greet the sunlight in memoriam.
Forever half-dead, forever my room’s jewels.