All the love that you confess
I fear is rendered meaningless
by the kiss you choose to press
near the neckline of my dress.
Hidden by collar, more or less,
the flower you rendered like counting coup
last night, now blooms in black and blue.
It was the least that you could do
once you’d gone through all your brew
and needed a diversion new.
When you said you’d shower me with flowers,
I envisioned vases, bowers.
Not this expression of your power
that lowered me from ivory tower
and taught me how to cringe and cower.
Each floral offering rendered anew
confirms what I must one day do.
each page in this scrapbook of you
written in a violent hue
on my body is one you’ll rue.
Once I’ve worked out my solution,
plotted and planned my retribution,
prepared the waters of my ablution,
then I will stage my revolution
and enact our dissolution.
I’ll pluck my flower from your bouquet
and be no more beneath your sway.
I will be happy and free and gay
with no nightly price to pay.
I really will. One day, one day
The prompt word today is meaningless.