Poem: Flowers Mean May

Flowers Mean May

April’s rimless wet

                                wagers grief’s roulette. 

Blooms rattle,

                       frenetic mesh.

Prod imperfection;

                               spatter flimsy rosette:

desperate for a kindly set

                                         to count-off

and confirm us.

                            Hold dear.

Tactic of desire –

                             odd-numbered

to denote She Loves Me. . . .

I stroll the peristyle

                                 encircled

with springtime bouquet. 

                                          Piecemeal fragrance

to wilt all winter weed. 

                                       Appetite of delicate petals

on cue:

             summon like addiction. 

Snatch a daisy

                        off the edge,

eager to dissect our fate.

                                         Each casualty

may heal, while any sum

                                         must be forgiven –

abide pledge

                     as she may love me not.

                                                         
                                                     by Sam Barbee