I wish flowers
would go extinct
if only for a day,
from both the earth
and my memory,
just so I can pluck these
thorny comparisons
from out my poems.

And while we're there,
sunrises can also take the boot
with their predictable
eastern risings and
western settings,
intrusive summer heat,
and their connection to
the feminine glow.

Why not try
rising in the north
and setting in the south,
dare to relate yourself
to the screech of a car?

Don't get me started
on the diverging
roads and your
forked choices
or a bustling stage
you call your
world.

I want to lean
on over to Andromeda,
and see what kind of
terrain they have,  
weave my words
based on their cold suns,
that are actually called
moons or flubberdygoo,
that never set and
mimic the sounds
of migrating birds.

Or maybe peek
on over to Neptune
with her five rings and
get a better idea
of the color blue
and how wind can
actually feel like
seduction.

Because my dear
however lovely
your lips truly are,
I can no longer go
forward relating them
to the red rose nor
compare our
premature parting
to the setting sun.