made a fool of my pain

succulent daisies in a vase
replacing the dead roses
w/petals shorn
and water-soft thorns
the counter’s full of books
and coffee and wine and food
it’s not quite spring and the streets
are still quiet
gone the jagged cloying
gone the young&careless summer
gone the girls, whose father’s hands
like black tendrils, snapped them back
from real love
no more banging ‘ginst
the big blue world
and asking “why?”
I wrap my hands around your thick waist
at the sink
and the sun comes in like a
soft chisel
suddenly you are all I see.