Crushed

It doesn't scare others

that I like the slaughter

of flowers,

and find it worthy

of our center table.

But I worry

about the ants

in funeral procession

who come

with respect

to their end,

beneath a thumb

that gently rearranges

my fragrant wilting bouquet

--This symbol

of our infatuation

with Life & Death--

only my Heart

will understand,

in the great unsaid

static shock divide,

how it is

Love also dies.