Deep

White carnations
On high
Brush the ceiling with Springs breeze
And slowly come down
To the window sill that drowned in dusty dreams.

Could I ever sift through it all
And not find you
At the end of my fingerprints?
You'd just bite down on me
So I'd forget about our difference.

I ruined our scene
Pulling at threads, breaking the waves, bending the straight lines
Bending, bending, snap.
Could you please not
Decode the etchings in my scribbled eyes?

Plant a red rose on my tongue, if you will.

Because I won't speak the truth.