I see the roses in you, the delicate petals of of being human, the thorns of us have broken the chains, our feathers glide when darkness once wished to down the soar of our wings, feathers glide from loud howls, floating up to the place we call as truth.
We look upon the the flowers, thinking, “I was once you, before my eyes were known to your bloom” the wind is lifting the petals gently as wanderers of the sea, the night falls, us and them are as blinking stars, floating almost endlessly, unaware of the lights we give, and yet, unwavering.
I don't like flowers But there's one where you can see through its petals It doesn't shroud what's right in front of me Without permission I see what it's hiding It understands my desire To reveal the concealed And beneath it's milky veins A clear glass frame That we call petals Each a frail skeleton It'll crumble in my fingers And vanish entirely The petals will shatter As if it was nobody
Little flowers opened as you kissed me lightly, the petals under the moonlight dance, we wore the robes of the stars, and gazed upon the tides, we wondered how they beheld a dream, always there as the sea of our arms, gilded in silver scales, returning to a home where you keep these hands of mine close, be delicate, for you hold my heart and yours.
The poet of the night closed her eyes, and dreamed of little stars as details in the small moment of beauty she beheld, as a painting once hidden, now coming alive before her eyes, as wondrous as when she had first met the pages of a book, and held them more dearest than the petals of a flower held close to her heart, forever in bloom.