You, Like Flowers

You, like flowers
and not the ones
in the market
off 3rd Avenue
that are dying
when you buy them
with the brown paper
wrapped around their base
that you'll put on life support
in a vase
in the window
in your apartment
with no air
conditioning, but
ones in the ground
that die when they're good
and ready. Ones that take
their sweet-damn-time
and lie down slow
when their spine
gets too sick
of holding up their big
beautiful fucking head
and they say thank you
to frost because they're tired
and they lived a good life.
thankyouthankyouthankyou
It was time to go.