Sunflower

Word Count: 98

The petals taste the static air impervious to nature’s fare
Stubbornly subsisting stems reach wildly out, like the cane of a broken man’s fall
As muted veils, the protection of the petal falls – a roll call gone null.

The hushed wind whispers as I taste the relief of permanency, a table.
Wedding days a temporal gaze, flowers now a hue of hay
transmitting an uneasy blossom’s fume, the bulbous bush squirts one last day.

The wilting pollen cannot contain the drenched roots’ stench
I remain a glass vessel maintaining this desperation
Deaths upon deaths remains my vocational station.