Self-explanatory tulips and their contours rest upon the window sill
the day’s droll past and its esteem wavers from dawn to dusk.
Wonders that rise and bellow at each brisk wind that wisps past
Those bristly hairs that itch the air when a sudden movement eclipses your view.
And your limbs depart unwoven by the aberrations of autumn
your senses clogged with the steam of a foggy breathing whirlpool.
These soft luxuriant fuchsias lapsing in downfall as their souls depart
leaving behind an image of ghosts lost in the trance
as their stems become unhooked and veins pulse in manoeuvring form.

Away from their hearts of mind and frame as their petals
shrink in lyses their subtle coats writhed in old age.
Their roots shrivel and erase from their skin shedding by the ounce
retiring from the momentum exposed when they thrived at that window.
Its view unearthed and brewing with solidarity as it basked and devoured
each and everything that made life possible
lengthens farewell as it limps and flags, drooping under suspense.
Sorrow enlightening its blinding winks
and browse as its edges crumble
undermining the favourite moments, as fragrant as their
weeping tears.

Letting out all the bloodshed one last time
Tulips that lost the touch
Tulips hurt so very much

Their beauty cascading as and late storm retreating and
escape
sunrises glooming as it scorches their inner stride to leave in
peace
when seconds past their endearment and their fellows hurdle
close
to retreat together in to oblivion
Tulips falter in mourning and mingle with the soil.

Strewn underneath the house away from their ecosystem and war surrounding
Tulips losing the will to live.
Dreary with whispers fearful of the swarming army of bees
fleshing on their sweetness, the goodness whole
until they pipe down your stomach growing inside anew bunch of tulips
as lavishing as they were beside your cottage window.