I’m sitting in a rocking chair glass in hand
drunk on alcohol and drunk on thoughts
and all I can think about is the way
I placed flowers on your collarbones
that morning by the creek –
a lifetime ago
You offered him the daisies I plucked for you
from the far side of the mountain
in a heartbeat giving away
the flowers we had spent lifetimes
planting
And all I can muster to say
with my drunken thoughts
through a telephone call on a drunken whim –
“You forgot your flowers.”