Little bud
rosebud
tiny soft and naked
waiting for spring
at times it seemed
you would fit into my hand
with one clasp I encompass
your entire being
and I would smell and taste
your sweet disorienting scent

So stilled my hand
with each breeze and each breath
waited for the perfumed brush
a scented sting on my skin
in an ancient language
I knew it was futile to translate or resist

Passing by
a poised snail without its shell
in a garden where boisterous children play
in a world without a map
a dew drop
I look up
there goes a comet without its tail