I speak in roses.
Each
imperfect
a whole
more beautiful
than its parts
may suggest
dark leaves
concealing
silent thorns
that snag and prick
a negligent grasp
fractal petals
wrapped round
a perfumed
mystery
tight at their
blood red heart
no one knows
the full meaning
of any rose
least of all
me
each surprises
growing its own
strange way
hothouse
garden
or essential wild.
Listen.
I speak in roses.
Can you
hear them
yet?
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4 comments:
Wow - this is delicious...mysterious and wonderful. I absolutely love it. Yum.
Glad you like it, Christa. Mysterious, yes. I was trying to get across something of the convolutions that can occur, even between two people who care, when they try to communicate with, and understand, each other. Folded rose petals seemed like an apt image, somehow, and it just went from there...
Sometimes you read something and it just strikes you immediately...this did it for me.
Arresting. Truly.
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