Fallen

I fell from the bouquet or a
bush, a garland or trembling
hands of love, dejected in the
rejection of earnest pursuit.

Snapped stalk, creased leaf
solitary limb, petals torn from
whimpering neck, my scarlet
dripping from pale nakedness.

Enough wonder and pity shed
on this lone fall, effervescence
of myriad stories, coalesced in
scalding futile commiserations.

Makes one speculate if my petals
would never be torn, limb intact
and gleaming, the scarlet bound
in its canvas, forever, had I never
fallen.