these flowers

     these flowers see the way i breathe
     they wilt and burn like tabletops
     curl endlessly off the edge of a knife
     blinking eyes and closing legs
     darkness through the pages between their leaves
     we will yellow like these pages
     wilt like sunrises in the winter
     blood blossoming from the eaves
     falling floating shifting
     clouds like the back of your eyelids
     dying light like the way you used to touch me
     i breathe as these flowers die
perhaps it is for the best