how is it she is able to sustain his idealistic fantasy without burning out in the heat of all her efforts?
he lingers still in her presence
she is in love with him
or at least thinks she is
yet he rolls over each morning
stirring her once again from her slumber
and he makes love to her with a half hearted sigh of relief
angst still plaguing his eyes
she is the void he fills with further emptiness
in their sad excuse for a relationship
he is a silly man
and she should never have taken him to her bed
let alone into the garden of her heart
allowing him to harvest all there was of her
she has now not a petal to show for the past eight months
tumble weeds blowing carelessly through the barren wasteland of her chest
should she not press herself
some small white flower
and iron herself in grease proof paper so she can send herself in a card to his mother
a card explaining that her son is better kept at home
out of sweet young girls hearts
his mother hears nothing of it though
the card will be put on a shelf in the drawing room
until a new pressed flower card arrives in the post
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