Plastic flowers
Glossy on your counter top
Dusted once in a month
Or three or six
Never touched between
Looks looks and always looks
At the garden flowers
Sometimes on her head,
Or in his long hands gently held
Or crushed on the ground beneath the feets
Or wilted on a sunny day
Envy stirs stings and burns
And still I be glossy on your counter top
Waiting ,waiting and waiting
For something anything
And finally nothing
Tossed or burnt
Maybe that's how this cease
I cease
....…..........................................
Not a conversation between Dora and her call ... This just me thilo just her world. Just how much I used to wait for him.
