Today, I have a taste for the beautiful and frail; the iron within the rose; the drop of blood when pricked by the artful thorn. No rose is so defenseless.
I would collect the petals in my hands only to say I held them, once.
3 thoughts on “petals”
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it’s as though you’re writing for me, lately …
… how vain of me.
elise
It seems that you and my Wolf are channeling each other these days, old friend. I can’t wait to introduce the two of you.
I was expecting a sound byte with this one.