I want no more of this grave, this death,
all that is embodied within this lingering leftover feeling.
It steals in the sun and rots the warmest roots,
what dare it to bare fruits and flowers in it’s turbulent soil.
For I yearn for a blinding light, a hypothesis,
for better living furthered afield in flourished foundries.
Yet no epiphany emits a solvent to my mixture,
as gases wane my botanical being and exhaust me to dust.
And on this shelf are my unraveled remnants, my petals,
and no composite could fuse my fecundated fissures.
How persistent are the planters aggregating my emblements,
their ploughs pillaging my surface for love left famished.
This poem can be read on poetry.com - http://poetry.com/poems/246558