last Tuesday you left me flowers on my doorstep,
but i was still running down the stairs
when you had walked back through the gate;
you kicked down the sign as you passed -
the one with the chipped wood and peeling paint

i must admit i ripped up the petals,
he loves me, he loves me not
i watched them fall to the ground then wither and curl
now the sign you never read is nailed back up;
for rent but never for sale