She talks to the peonies
knowing they can’t
respond.
Her red painted
lips whisper
secrets into the
petals
and watches every blush
as she tucks them
into bouquets.
It is her
annual
ritual
of
irony
where
she
invites
guests
to her
spring
filled
rooms to admire
the beauty of blossoms
honeycombed with her confessions.
