On a hazy spring night,

I gave you a gift

with alcohol tainting my breath,

like a sickly poison,

condemning both of us to the morning after.

The gift,

a delicate blossom with white silk petals,

I gingerly placed in the palm of your hand,

but you fumbled with it too roughly,

crushing the pale petals,

beneath the weight of your glass.

Now I never said I didn't love you,

even though you never believed it,



may I have that flower back?

K. Carrier