Denver Boxleitner is a college freshman whose poetry has been published globally.
by Denver Boxleitner
Watching roses die,
coins sink to fountain floors,
stitching plush limbs,
thinking amidst this numbness,
and desiring glamour to mask gore.
Her eyes are technicolor.
You can hear her pour the honey.
You can see her things are lovely.
While I am a silent film,
an old-fashioned gift of ignorance.
No wonder you love her.
I am mute, I can only cry.
No shimmer, no lavish disguise,
just me, too old for this bull,
but too young to succumb to the drink
that you fed to me constantly.
Now I am numb, can’t even think,
can’t even wish, can’t even bleed.
When I touch dead roses with thorns,
simply her on the movie screen
and your pity that I keep for warmth.