you knew that i loved flowers,
gave them to me
the same way you did promises:
in pretty, dying bouquets.

a dozen “we’ll be okay”s
   someday
i’d get that quiet house
where I can lay my weary bones.
and you can lay another lady
every time that I’m not home.

trimmed the stems down,
avoiding each thorn
touching only the parts of me
that were soft and green
like money.
“relax. It comes and goes”
and so did you, through any
willing woman’s clothes.

in shiny vases:
“anything I could afford,
anything for you”
any thing that you could get inside
because anything is more.
and so I got my pretty flower petals
covering the floor
in a trail that led me to the bed,
the only way you knew.
always got my pretty flowers,
instead of any truth.