Eighth Petal

I floated

before the Garden of Love

once

levitating on the scents

of its populace of petunias 

and on the sense 

of our possibility

a love that could be

its destiny carefully enclosed

in the delicate folds

of any chosen flower

then

in a pluck of courage

and a pluck of petals

(that died upon the eighth)

I crashed back to Earth

understanding

from the unbroken stem

of my loneliness

that he’d always love me

not.

Reviews

[John F]

Love the earnestness expressed in your poetry. The first line is beautifully delicate and sets the poem on a natural path

[Renata]

Thank you, John.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Love the last two lines...better to know now and plant new flowers. Fresh flowers from a different lover.
j.

[Renata]

Thank you, Jacob.