He laid the bouquet in my arms
like I was a weeping pageant queen.
Cellophane groaned and thorns poked
as he leaned close to address a tear.
Aw, you’re a mess he cooed as though I cried
for a torn dress rather than the sudden utter dissolution
of the tender nape where my tired boy's sweaty curls had clung
as if pressed in a blue satin bow.
– Teresa Kiplinger
Photo: Annie Spratt via Unsplash
Your name came to me through my sister. These words are so dear and remind me of what was recently lost to me. I look forward to seeing and enjoying your work for a long time.
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