The Never

Some memories of you
are mental wildflowers.
Where I lay for hours
in the intoxicating deception
of a sickly sweet perfume.
But really my heart,
was a haggard yard,
rigor mortis roots of dead truth.
Truth that dies can be
worse than lies.
False memories of you and I.
I remember how I desired it to be,
In denial of the nuances,
as they silently scream,
that you would never love me.
The never, with the hazel eyes of forever.