Passion Flowers

Sitting at the corner of our bed where the roots of our love
Had dug themselves deeply into the mattress
But the passion flowers had long since bloomed and died
I sit and stare blankly at the magnolia walls of your room

For somebody so vibrant you always had such a bland uninspired eye for decoration
As though the dancing colours in your head didn't translate right upon application
But you did always used to tell me that the neutral space
Would help you unwind once the world had worn you down

I imagine the lives of the lovers who had laid their bones here before us
The flaws of their love now lying dormant
Like the burn marks of house fires hidden beneath fresh wallpaper
And now we too were ready to be painted over

Completely forgotten about save for the scars that we carry beneath our poorly fitted clothes
White rags tied to old bones that signal surrender without dignity
A defeat less gracious, and more begrudged
Because even children are capable of love; but we weren't

But we fucking weren't