Tuesday, April 12, 2011



The season turns, within my heart
And with it, wipes the blush off roses,
Leaving ghostly fragrant stems.

I have put up my defenses
Against the able, active winds
That blow your kisses off my skin.

Leaning down to pluck a flower
I notice, now, its thorny spine
Beneath the gently woven petals, the finger pricked is mine.

But all eyes widen in the dark
And it will tell you "look for her"
Still I am gone, and sheets are stained.

Though my love could topple empires,
Though it is the stuff of dreams,
I will let it be diminished, so you'll not diminish me.

(One of my own)

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