Then a blooming began.
Flossing in the bathroom,
bird perched on tub,
watching you spit water into the sink,
looking at you in grey underwear,
wishing you wanted to inflate that balloon
and glue me to the mattress.
These petals are petering out,
this wiener is wilting,
my blush blackening.
This fragrant cloud is floundering.
If you will,
fish me out of this pit.
Are we missing it? Independence