Spring Flowers

A roll of bandaid

spilling down your dress

Covering up some bruises

Some scrapes

Some shriveling

As the air wrinkles

they roll off

scattering across the 

bare ground

They may ride on deer

Away to wooded homes

They may attach to the sides of shoes

or nudge across eyebrows

Leaving behind scented bodies

But always

always

before wearing away

before losing their fair skin

they burrow beneath fine fur

or even 

shriveled silk