Exotic and dark, it sprouted in difficult dirt. Tended with anticipation,
its potential was thrilling. It flourished, intertwining us two.
Ensnaring us in its tendrils, it encircled us through life and death,
the occasional blooms spectacular.
But time rot perished it,
Apathy pruned abusively and those rare blossoms failed.
Obligatory revivals were attempted, forced and bitter,
Like CPR on a dead man.
Leaving us at a distance to stare at its remains.
Left to a dusty corner pot it hangs, dry and brittle,
Like a macrame-clad maiden hair. Present, but a memory.
It sprouted in difficult dirt
But it flourished and intertwined us two.