Lost in a garden, fresh flower petals wipe my tears.

Ivy covered stones line my confused path.

Fertile soil, exhausted options.

I sit on a dirt speckled bench in my long white dress, weeping,

with a white flower in my hair.

You, in your black suit, appeared sophisticated in front of me like destiny.

You navigated the garden like it was your home, bringing me to mine.

Every afternoon thereafter the garden was my sanctuary.

I was never lost again, for the image of your face was found.

I imagined you would come. . .

Idle thoughts were a cruel diversion from reality.

Fantasy pulled me in, consumed by your memory.

In such a pleasant place, my heart and hopes were crushed like grapes ready to be wine,

. . .dreams stomped out by purple feet.

Such a beautiful man, a silent allure, calm powerful presence.

     The charm of the flowers teased me with their simple existence.

Years passed, I began to detest their smell, their appeal transformed to rubbish.

I could not see a flower without falling into depression.

Wicked White Roses,

. . .wish I could hold you; Marigold Melancholy, young minds folly,

. . .torturous yellow tulips; yearning for your lips.

Carnation damnation.

Morbid Orchid; god forbid my love lost his way as I did.

You never came, flowers were not the same.

As I hated them, I could not stay away, it was a sick addiction to your memory.

Wicked white roses lived everlasting in a vase on my dining room table.

I took better care of them than I did of myself.

The eternal image of your face stayed with me until the last day of my life.

I kept you with me always, though you never returned to our garden.