by Laurie Razor
April 14 Entry. GloPoWriMo 2020
|Verdant daffodils disrupted the grey|
of the spire's cold, monochrome balcony.
Winter struck with the flapping of owl wings,
and with it, life in the tower wilted.
Eons before, she and I married young,
and our love contaminated those walls.
Soon, our tender plague dispersed to others;
we swooned as their hungry hearts imploded.
She never was, and I had never lived,
though reality couldn't dampen us,
nor will our bodies decompose either;
painted flowers, painted vase, no canvas.