make me a bouquet
of roses and of bruises,
all in red or blue or grey.
contusions and allusions blossom,
pansies are for thoughts,
of which mine are like gossamer-
with difficulty caught.
floating free but hard to see
like proud Arachne's dresses,
and like Rapunzel's hair,
they would ensnare with soft caresses.
i wonder how i ponder
when my brain is made of fluff-
my thoughts have been quite cloudy
since you punched my heart clean off.