looked at, but not touched. None
can lay their hands on the silky
soft weave of every petal that can’t
breathe.  But curls up in a crimson smile,

hiding in a crystal tower. None can whiff
a strawberry kiss placed in an upside
down vase, holding still in place, so as not
to spoil. But stillness stirs

recoil. Well, you won’t be scratched
by thorns!  But you won’t dance on plush
green lawns, or wink at the azure sky
or chat with the butterfly.