Behold, here is your king,
who will claim him,
when it’s not what
we thought we needed.
Outside my window blooms
whisper when rustled
by the breeze. Clipped stems
fill a vase and running water
begs them to breathe.
Across the threshold
I brought them, from wild
to a kitchen table, controlled,
in my care they spent
three days.
Petals litter the table like
confetti celebrating their
own untimely death, I brought
this on myself, and wonder,
where is the beauty
to behold?
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