If I gave you flowers,
in this shaded public house
would we have swelled for hours.
Letting the walls clamber in
on several mis-tangible coversations
about the overly worked oak tables or
perhaps the temptation of the quiz night on Monday.

Half-expensive and
a bit battered from my heavy hand,
these flowers would give you something
from me.
An apology, an advance, a cry for help.

You gave me so much more
than flowers ever could.

You gave me my dreams.

And my flowers couldn't save me from myself.