Looking at lilacs as the hour of midnight comes near and
like my poetry, unclear, but I write,
And on the podium where opium is a pipe dream
I lean into the light that I see.
Me!
screamed someone I knew and
it was me.
Always damn daffodils
always them blooms
I take rooms at the harbour hotel
and watch from bay windows
the swell of the ocean
I can still smell them
as if they were still here
as if
you were still near
but you’ve gone
and only
the flowers of our youth
lingers on.
© 2019, John Smallshaw.
