Petal

one of them is brusied
and one is torn,
the others have their stories,
breaking, every one.

so i shake
and i like the way it spills,
the dewy-wet, from my body,
like sugar.
beautiful boys, beautiful you know,
and clipped at my bud.
sort of a disturbance, from my veins,
inside.
the stamen is well versed.
like gods, demi and full, the roses and the lillies,
but i know their secrets, their weaknesses,
they bleed from their leaves, and i soak it all up, hold it
and i am heavy with the knowledge.
sick.
in my garden, i'm flowering sometimes, sometimes not,
and thirsty in my way.
pluck them out, i'm used to the sting of the tear.

one of them is brusied,
and one is torn,
the others have their stories,
breaking, every one.

the frost came late.