Dead Blooms & Dog Poison

He bought these dead blooms and
Dog poison for his beloved.

Hands torn by thorns, bloodied.

Standing at her door,
Nervous perspiration trickles
Down his ass crack.

Visions of car crashes,
Train wrecks,
Sinking ships
Fill his sweaty brow.

The moments stretch on
Indeterminately. Seconds
Seem like minutes. Minutes
Feel like hours.

Waiting, heart palpitating,
Is misery.

Still, her door remains a barrier to
His hopes and aspirations.

Perhaps things would go better
If he knocked.