We were flowers, twisted ‘round each other in red thread speaking soft words under soft rains – hard park benches pretending we didn’t love what was in the other’s head. We were flowers, one flower, ‘round and ‘round in red lipstick that stained and teethmarks from words left unsaid We were pacing old trodden paths digging old sodden trenches We were flowers, cut at the stem bleeding love bleeding red Speaking cold words in floods, sitting on lonely park benches.
then like sausages, we file squish ourselves into metal skin and sit in air-conditioned solace
Time pass slower Moods get sharper And sleep gets further away the view from city streets to run down houses, homemade fences, shipping yards, more factories, of unholy God knows what and finally mountains bathed in sunlight and green trees.
Its a little boring but I was on on a long ride and I wrote this after writing three other poems so not as personal.