the rain that once flourished the flower
has beaten it flat to the grass
its pinks weep across browns

except that i am not a flower
and perhaps
it was my hearing that was distorted
and not your words that flourished me

let me wish
bare like the moon for a minute
that i were more than a favour, company, spite
that i were
more to you (too)
even though i can never say

i'm lit like rain with hate and love. and no one has a clue.