Corrosive petals lingering on stems
                              of faltering breath.
For the air smells sweet,
underneath the carcass of pollen.

Three words held in masks
                        of suffocation.

Innocence stands there,
         would you like to smell
                              our flowers.

Hollow eyes, hiding smiles
            within breathless voids.
They pick them for the scent of death
is always sweetest before the demise.