My fingers craft blossoms.
Layered crepe merges color—
Thin, transparent, crinkled—
Craving to breath.
My fingers, craving to create flowers.
Weightless. Real.
Worthy of ash and petrified pearl.
I crease, crimp, and unfurl
Paper thin petals.
Tear.
Flower falls.
Again, crease, crimp, unfurl.
Crevices blend and ruffle.
Formed flowers clutter my desk—
A lavender that speaks
The language of last light.
Water spills.
Seeping, H2O drains life.
Blossoms bleed.
Weeping petals stain particle board
And disappear.
Lavender light dies.
Never kindled. Never crackled. Never alive.
Crying. Craving life.
