sunflowers

I long to see you with

sunflowers

in your hands —

fine arrangement;

beautiful bouquet

each, handpicked

because, as you’d say,

“they reminded me of you.”

//

I long to see you

unannounced —

show up at my doorstep,

you wait below the stairs

and from up upon a balcony,

lovingly, I gaze down at my suitor

there he is with

sunflowers —

an offering,

reaching out his hand.

//

I long to watch as you

right all of your wrongs;

what I find so

terribly unfortunate:

it would only take the

smallest, simplest of

gestures

and again, I’d be

back in your grasp.

//

but instead, the only

flowers occupying a

lonely girl’s vase —

wild ones she’s

picked each

sunset walk she’s taken

each night, a

hopeless attempt at

erasing an image so

ingrained

but each footstep

leaves you evermore

imprinted in

such sacred space.

//

now, petals litter used pages

those flooded with

written thoughts

you live in my books

almost as much as you

reside in my head

a fantasy,

at best.