“Look who’s coming! My Rosenkavalier! Bow to me first… now present them! Ahhh– Merciiii!” ~ Blanche DuBois, ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ by Tennessee Williams
Your first bouquet: red roses, orchids, hyacinthlilyjasmine
clinging together, bursting forth; fountain of Spring
breaking through Winter, desperate, yearning
gasping for its old perfume, romance in-carnation
Youth, trembling, crying out for release, clasp it to my breast,
like it’s the knight-in-shining-armour,
one-way ticket to the great beyond, the world of real women
where masked suitors shower my doorstep in petals and pollen and
a paramour with a soul, and a great deal of dough to spend
at a florist’s. Romeos are clamouring at my keyhole,
wedding bells every time they hit the doorbell, and they ring,
and ring, and ring… you hand it over with a smile, affectionate pat –
unaware of the wheels set in motion. I’m overflowing, bubbling,
The world of romance I knew, always knew, lay
merely a bouquet away
petals are swimming in the toilet bowl. It’s been flushed.
drowned. swept away. and I’m still firmly on my feet.
It was black you say, withering away – I just thought it needed to go.
barefoot on the linoleum threshold, that I haven’t been carried over
waiting once again, to be made older.
For those that are still waiting