novelty

two flowers on the pale floor
splattered red, not fresh
nearly stale.

not long ago they were plucked
hand-picked, by fate
or chance perhaps.

entwined in opportunity's vase, petals feel the
crisp novelty, of togetherness
though so brittle.

time soon crashes into novelty's glass
weathered, so cruelly by the tempest
of doubt and satiation.

gusts tip the unfortunate vase
shattering, assorted shards
of subtle disdain.

two flowers on the pale floor
splattered grey, not fresh
reeking cold death.