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)