Our love is the flower
Which blooms on the unknown mountain.
Our love is beautiful.
Never picked and displayed in the imperior's palace,
Never put down to the soldier's grave.
Our love is swinging in the wind.
Our love is opening the petals to the sun.
Our love is always glad if it rains.
Our love never fade in the imperior's vase,
Our love never wither on the lonely grave.
Our love will give seeds
Like others,
Like others.
Our love is the flower,
Wild flower.

I bask in the glory
Radiated from the sun
The heat works to encompass me
In its loving embrace

Shining over the earth
Dropping and raising petals
Never stopping
Never ceasing to exist

There were gods named after her, after all.

A women's trust is similar to a flower.
Her very soft heart is like petals,
If you break it, she will lose her trust in you,
and just as you can't put a flowers petal back,
you can never get her to trust you.

I crave a dance
Not a hug,
Not a kiss or a delicate touch
But a dance
A red dress and a gentleman to take my hand
On a shinning dancefloor
On a trip outside the dimensions of this world
Where flying needs no wings
Where music feels like the gentle wind
I'd swirl and swirl
With my red dress flowing like the petals of a rose
Carried by the swift breeze
Till it come back
To you

A flower is
a knot of chiaroscuro
enlightenment entangled in a coil,
finely spread seasons of spirals,
long mournful curves
chained to moment or cycles,
it is sense in a state of song,
desire dense in dew,
a phase suspended in façade
electricity distilled in feature
a flower
is essentially unknown
some element
in petal passion perfume.