I pressed an anemone petal
in the mount of your palm
and closed your fingers
so tightly upon it
that your fingernails drew blood.
you winced in pain
and drew back your arm.
"why would you hurt me,"
you asked,
"to see tears well up in my eyes?"
"No, for a souvenir," I replied.
I picked up the fallen petal---
deep violet and bloodstained---
and rubbed it on my lips.
your cheeks flushed.
it was the day of your departure
and our final goodbye.
your plane left in the early morning
when the world is lurid and blue.
I knew you'd break things off---
goodbye, goodbye---
I keep your petal in a sachet
in the back of my sock drawer.
