I almost don't want to comment simply because I haven't anything constructive to add, or say. I am but a machine driven by emotions, and speechlessness.
"only when you start to fall apart"
I can't shake this.
Maybe because I somewhat dramatically find myself falling apart every now and then (a lot) and I somehow am always with someone and I dunno why this reminds me of my ex (ex was the poetic one, current man, not so much), maybe because that's the kinda thing he would do? I shrug aggressively.
It's like, why "when", does he know that she is prone to falling apart? Is it because flowers eventually like disintegrate like all organic matter? Does he think that comparing her to flowers when she is falling apart will be of aid?
I think too much, maybe because I am a little bit narcissistic in that I see parts of myself in this. Oops.
It is short and sweet, and just, the English language cannot convey the cacophony of thoughts and feelings I have when I read this.
sometimes you are a red tulip opening so wide
your petals fall off
The subject matter is not the same, but the image of a flower past-bloom,
deteriorating and still so beautiful. I suppose we're all leches for such things.
This recalled that poem, and the sad irony / honesty of it held on to a certain part of me I don't like to tend to often. This also strikes me as a bit of commentary on poets / poetry and the whole nature of the art which can latch too willingly to despair and so miss out.
I enjoy the way you work dialogue into your poetry without much setup or explanation, and even brief scenery elements that still frame the conversation adequately. It's not something found a whole lot.
p.s. I always have found Whitman to be a rather straightforward bloke.