the flowers.
'bout them.
bed-ridden, their veins made that slurping sound
like starving straws sucking at the end of a glass
I admit I didn't water them.
I'm sorry.
There was a complication too, with the dinners
over-dosed on the flame, I'm to blame.
Don't have a seizure either,
but I broke a glass and boy it smashed.
I left my love at the terminal gate,
I didn't mean to be late.
Work kept calling, I guess I'm falling
behind. I hope you don't mind.
Dirty dishes spread like bacteria
speckled the sink like cancerous freckles
I never cleaned as I went.
As the dog spilled his guts onto the couch
and the phone rang like church-bells
I twisted the flower's necks,
already dead, and twined them around my own.
I'm sorry. Just please come home.