Passion Flowers

Sitting at the corner of our bed

Where the roots of our love had dug themselves deeply into the mattress

But the passion flowers had long since bloomed and died

I sit and stare blankly at the magnolia walls of your room

For somebody so vibrant

You always had such a bland, uninspired eye for decoration

As though the dancing colours in your head

Didn't translate right upon application

But you did always used to tell me that the neutral space

Would help you unwind once the world had worn you down

I imagine the lives of the lovers who laid their bones here before us

The flaws of their love now laying dormant

Like the burn marks of house fires hidden beneath the fresh wallpaper

Now we too were ready to be painted over

Completely forgotten about save for the scars we carry beneath our poorly fitted clothes

White rags tied to old bones that signal surrender without dignity

A defeat less gracious and more begrudged

Because even children are capable of love; but we weren't