the stem lies

by pmmurphy

and weighs waste to the air
as you can still smell its epicenter.

the pedals are all but gone
but the aroma remains

i once hand plucked her
to grasp in my hand
where i let her thorns pinch my skin.

outings only drenched me in blood
when i overlooked her crisp foundation.
it was a river flow that was blue
because when i was with her
i refused to soak in the oxygen.

weary minded and drought
i distaste the idea of water,
i found myself drifting away
lightheaded and ravished.

she was my soda
that empty bottle of coca-cola,
i just had to get another taste.

i once laid down pamphlets
and brand new blankets
that were meant to keep us eating
our picnic.

ants didn't come this way
or maybe i couldn't see them.
for my food trail was braille messages
trying to tell me that this wasn't going to work.

I ignored them for i wasn't blind
my eyes still worked and i saw her face.
but my hands could read them
and oh how it reminded me
that maybe this wasn't the best idea.

then the time comes when we close up the picnic
even though i was hazy and drenched
in nothing but coke.

i had to realize that the taste of water
only falls from the sky because
the morning sun wanted to gleam
her real figure right infront of me.

that was when i decided i wanted to drink
water, instead of soda.
and i paid attention to the braille for once
and actually read it.

it said

"pedals fly and gloom through the years
but do not fret for another rose will appear"