the walk. You talk. You’re
a painted flower that has no
perfume. You’re stenciled on
my bedroom walls to look at –

not consume.  Flat and one-sided
you left me misguided. You spoke
the things I like to hear. But none of it
is true. In all the years,

I believed in you. And now I have
not a thing to show. You planted seeds
that didn't grow. You bragged about
the garden. But the frost from every breath

you took made it harden. No footsteps
in the soil. You watered me with oil. But I
didn't dissolve. I floated on top, a yellow
raindrop of gold.