You, Like Flowers

You, like flowers

and not the ones

in the market

off 3rd Avenue

that are dying

when you buy them

with the brown paper

wrapped around their base

that you'll put on life support

in a vase

in the window

in your apartment

with no air

conditioning, but

ones in the ground

that die when they're good

and ready. Ones that take

their sweet-damn-time

and lie down slow

when their spine

gets too sick

of holding up their big

beautiful fucking head

and they say thank you

to frost because they're tired

and they lived a good life.

thankyouthankyouthankyou

It was time to go.