I painted you for your birthday;
I saw you happy with the flowers;
There was joy, and laughter, and cake;
But all of it lasted a few hours.
Cakes are eaten and art is forgotten;
Smiles, like flowers, die;
Everything that I thought was truth,
How quick becomes a lie!
There lies a bitter miscommunication,
In language and in thought;
If I could only disremember, too,
All that you, by default, forgot.
You say no, when you mean ask,
I think of “no” as consent withdrawn;
I see passion that means intimacy,
And you see the devil with his horn.
The hours pass and you return home;
My home remains the one you’ll leave;
So here lies love, with no faith, or calm,
That may yet choose to deceive.
The flowers are wilting, as I type,
The memories I made, still shake me;
As death comes for the flowers, I smile,
Hoping he, at least, won’t forsake me.
Hearts Still Care 
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