They stare down from the bridge like a speed trap
Ill-fated like candles on a heat map
Two face that six deep till their eaves drop
Speak war ‘til they detox
The air they’re breeding? I need that
Photo finishes lose their gloss, so forward thinking I read back.
Embracing these ventilations with open windows
We can christen or crescendo until the wind has lost our taste
If giving is charity, does a casket rest the case?
Is time well spent when interest cools?
Does time erase? Does time even have tools?
Are unheard sentiments simply sediment.
If pretty flowers must die, are they worth your remembrance?
Will you choose to bury them?
If principles are the rule, is perception the real measurement?
Our bouquet pendulums have greater range than a peregrine
What’s your addendum?
Is it the copy of your recipe or the flavour of your beef?
Every decision we make writes our story
Is yours a magazine?
Is it live and let die or do we force some to breathe?
It seems some can’t believe that pretty flowers… must die