I won’t send you flowers.

~

Love poems abound with flowers

denoting lovesick nights

bouquets of restless hours,

or scented petals of delight.

Roses, roses, roses

red, pink and white.

Don’t you have enough by now

Strewn beneath your feet?

As you walk you crush them.

~

I’m tired of your demands.

It’s not what loves about.

There are droughts and floods,

withered buds and broken bowers,

weeds running wild,

(weeds that later rot).

Why should I pick flowers

when I know you’ll watch them wilt?

~

I won’t refresh your vases.

Go and see the garden.

I grow delinquent dandelions

and neroli for neglect

(bitter orange for your lips).

© A.Chakir 2023