In Memoriam

Lying
on her back
with one leg
cocked up
knee pointed high,
she sucks
on the stem
of a flower
and turns it
in her hand
as she teases him,
saying,
"He loves me,
he loves me not."

And another petal
hits the ground
over her head
as she tosses it
over her shoulder
and looks down
at the blossom
she is plucking
them from.

In the distance,
limb by limb,
his heart hits
the floor
at the thought
that ever
her mouth would stoop
to speak
of a day
when they
were never more.

He washes
the dishes,
and pushes
a broom,
but there
is no cleaning
the house
of cards
they have come
to inhabit.

Last petal,
and it ends.
"He loves me not."

Bursting
and shadows
and crushed velvet
and maps
of the meadows
where a million
fireflies have died.

runningturtle87