Something very gentle

[horatioalone]

I sit alone all day and dream
of jackboots, flowers, knives.
He whispers something very gentle
although I know he lies.

We stroll together in a field
glutted with ripened grain.
I kiss him on the lips. He puts
a bullet through my brain.

My ghost still wears the coat he lent me,
pressed roses in the sleeves.
You say I killed you—haunt me, then.
How savagely he grieves.