Tulips
They drop their petals
like withered crones now.
But only last week,
they were modest, closed
simple blooms folded in
like young ladies
legs crossed properly.
Stems trimmed
they drink, thirsty
exuberant in their youth.
Each day they open
relaxing tight hold on
Gentility, deportment.
Growth unbends,
stems curve
seeking to drop down,
reach out.
Then they are wanton,
innermost parts fully exposed
pollen dripping, passion staining
petals yellow, sticky, wet
nothing hidden
translucent,
open, flat.
Now parched, wrinkled,
dropping petals
color faded
a somber death.
