Flowers For the Womb

Selfless or evasive, they bring

Them home to die; to adorn

Or mourn an empty space.

A vacant vessel unearthed

To bear the weight.

Cut off in their prime, uprooted

Sold, drowned in oestrogenic

Flow. The flowers stand on

Ceremony; sacrifices of success.

The bitter pill is swallowed; new

Life no longer addressed.

There they stand, immersed,

Wilting in the gaze of one

Who chose to imprison beauty

He could not contain.

Stagnant water, fallen leaves, petals

Fading in light; all stare in judgment

As the perfume begins to ignite.

Ashes to ashes and soil to

Rust, the orgasm is over, the

Moment is lost. Death in a vase must

Come at a cost.