He’s been playing this game so long petals litter the ground where we stood when I told him I wanted him, and he told me he didn’t know how to feel.  Soon, he won’t be holding
a flower, just an empty stem, a thing that used to be lovely.
I’d like to say I’ll be long gone before that,
but the truth is I’d pluck
a thousand  flowers
for him to pick apart
if it meant,
one day,
he’d love