I used to love yellow roses
yet, as they contour the sides
of your appreciatively closed box
I silently scorn them

As inappropriate laughter bubbles from my lips
and enraged stares take self-preserving aim
at a selfish girl, in rumpled clothes
deficient in all anticipated signs of sorrow

Who's mind wandered to the arching rafters
With a single selfish utterance, distorted with frustration
that someone so detached could effortlessly ruin
my favorite flower.