I knew it all along,

that the flowers in her garden

were laced with the sweetest nectar,

that flow from her hands to her hips.

The same scent that used to cling to you,

I could smell her all over you,

and once I even saw the juices

dripping from your lips.

But that garden has long since been set ablaze

Because things always get in the way.

And I guess that now you long to venture back,

to see if another seed has taken root.

And it's alright, I suppose,

My garden is far less vibrant.

It's been weeded too often, clipped too far

But hers is still so young, so fresh and full of life.

So you still water my plants,

and pretend to be in her field of flowers.

And you wonder to yourself,

because you don't know if you ever truly liked the taste

of bitter deceit swimming through your veins.