Red Clover

I dream of him less than I used to - 

But our story always starts the same.

I am small, and his oil stained hands hold me like the Red Clover;

So tightly that I think he’ll never let me go.

And he tells me he loves me.

We are happy, and I begin to grow;

My petals reaching to him through the overpass.

He smells like exhaust and cigarettes, and it makes me smile -

And he tells me he loves me.

He holds me tightly in December.

His oil stained hands wilt my petals.

And I think I just might die.

But he tells me he loves me, so I grow strong for him.

I carry us through the overpass, and he hasn’t looked at me in a long time.

And I’ve tried to shine brighter for the both of us, but his willow eyes are invisible.

And all I can see is his cigarette smoke, and my petals suffocate.

It’s been a long while since he’s told me he loves me;

So I try to love for the both of us.

It has been a year;

And the oil has wasted my roots away,

And his cigarette smell makes me frown -

And feel so tired, and he tells me he does not love me.

And I cry and cry, because he used to hold me like the Red Clover.

I decide to leave for someone who holds me like they would never let go. 

So I pack my petals in two plastic trash bags,

And I leave my roots on that gravel road.

I never look back.