Melon Cauliflower

You droop
		like a melancholy flower
with bright dew at the tips of it's petals.
Petals no longer firm with the vigor
	of a creature that provides its own sustenance.

Petals that seem to want to fall,
as though plucked out and then dropped
	by a girl declaring the alternating convictions of boy
		whose love depends on the exact number
		of your soft, white leaves.

They are wrinkled brown from over-hydration,
dull and pale like swimmers' fingertips.
					The rain
always carries more weight than we prepare for.
Bracing will do little to keep you in place.
And even if your barricades do stand strong,
the overflow will still rot the roots of your garden.

	A home is never so permanent
		as one that is taken away

So take it! – and run.
Let your hands graze the dry bark of foreign pine trees.
	Let them feel the stark stickiness of their sap.
		Buy a winter coat; drink dark beer.
		End your relationships.
		Leave your family.
Find a way to make it all different.
	But do not stop...
The only proper end
		is a new beginning.

I promise, it will be okay.

	The only things you'll miss
		are the flowers.