Pushing dandelions in
defiance of dying roses and
count of thorns.
You wanted my final form
like some daisy to adorn and
I could ogle like
neat whiskey and nostalgia
Baby, we’re just drunk off old ambience (the taste is God awful).
So pour me your best, let’s ward off the impossible, faults in our Zodiacs and other stars we can hobble with long odds.
One more for
the road, to warm the
bones one becomes as
the underdog of
In this diaspora of roses, you’re the flower I clutch
closest when I’ve sworn off beauty like booze,
hungover from the human interaction of being given something to lose.
And yeah, I’m pushing the lesser ideal; wild oats over discipline, trading aesthetic for carnal sin,
but that’s the appeal-
true love on a whim ain’t pretty in the morning but you always tell
her she is.
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