fiction
of the stronghearted
and the petals that wilt under pressure.
that flower you call integrity.

several hours pass
and the head of that lion fades
into a mass of melted dignity.

so i look at your face
together we race hand to mouth
as the finish line creeps farther in the distance.

another lasting impression
a carbon copy caught in the works
in the gnashing teeth of the beast.

so you call this home
and i'll be the maid
to keep you busy when you're ready...

but only when you're ready.