Jasmines

Most plants last a week or two

on my once-barren windowsill,

until I neglect to water them --

(boredom / apathy, who can tell? 

or the fact that they aren't 

jasmines) -- but these

jasmines have survived months and I

have kept nigh light and rain

(on impulse / instinct, or from need? --

I don't know which).

Fifteen months, and finally

light is less wanton with its ministrations --

(less wanton / less generous, 

what's the difference?) -- 

on a fortunate day, a ray or two 

might leak down the sky's edges

into my jasmines' 

open palms,

slowly (surely) dying.

I'll air the curtains
and fluff the pillows tomorrow,
and, perhaps, allow

sweat (and blood?)
to unclog the pores
of my limbs and lungs
and wash away 

the perfumes of

faint, lingering jasmines.