Our love was a poinsettia blooming in
The middle of December – bright and red.
Uncanny time for a love to begin,
all other flowers had long since been dead.
The tender petals looked like fire and
seemed inextinguishable to us.
We neglected roots and petals and planned
to love like this forever, caught in the rush.
But flower and flame must both die away.
The brightest blaze burns out with time
and untended roots will meet with decay.
This love was not meant to be yours and mine.
We parted ways in the hot July sun
much colder than when our love had begun.
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