I called her Molly Bloom.
Then the final blossom fell from Molly
As I sipped over the lip of morning.
She grew on me.

I grow into things as well.
I was once worried about my height,
But I had large feet,
Not to worry.

I grew as the present slipped.
Hair was important
To grow.
It appeared, slowly, on arms,
Pits, lips and legs.
And groin pains followed.
Atrophy and entropy grow,
Take root like my historical assimilations.

I daily **** out apathy.
Molly was different.
She was presented with love,
And received with indifference,
Then I cared too much.
She was my Bloomsday
When I raised her ashen petalled face.
Should I vacation on Reunion Island
Where they make great ***.
I could pestle her blooms to reinvigorate myself.
Or kid myself, believing her shadow
Will open in the sun.