Wrapping myself in petals of familiarity,
Every morning they bloom into
Grotesque images of people, places, objects,
Leafy sepals of sameness.
Empty empty vacuous flower bud.
Senseless clambering for water,
For a moving constant, a flowing necessitation.
Nourish me with the lick of your honeyed tenderness.
Sick of monotony,
But wanting what once was.
C’est La Vie,
Lacking in you.