Planted

Planted

 

 

Strange;

a string of pearls dragged

across the teeth,

not as smooth

as once thought.

 

Pictures of an orchid

hang in a dirty kitchen,

the smell of fine tobacco

and cheap cognac,

place settings for two

where only one remains.

 

They are butterflies

not moths,

and a bit of spit

drips from a child’s chin.

 

A brutal reminder

of a life

less complicated.

 

And a flower is planted

where only bodies grow.