Winter flower

There is a desk from which to write.
Stands with four legs and four sides
At the top and meets at right angles
and is made of wood.
the morning you wake to is not yours.

You empty out a cup.
Clear the blood from where it blooms
Like a Winter flower. It is cold, dark.
Birds don't sing like they would
were it summer.

The room you wake to is like the cup.
It is naked not being used
For the thing it is designed for.
Must the room be filled? If water is necessary,
Must partnership be?

It is going on five years.
The cup remains empty for me.