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03 March 2010 @ 07:49 am
We were  
-nibbling rose petals,
and the pretty girl said it
only hurt when she
picked one.

-happy in the cold rain
because, even on bad days,
the mention of a rose's name
made her laugh.

-bathed in all the scents of folded flowers,
from first bud to last fragile memory
pressed in a book.

-mirrored sparkles in a drop of dew
clinging to a wild beauty
clinging to a garden wall.

-she said,
weren't we?
 
 
Current Mood: quixoticquixotic
Current Music: Grateful Dead - Box of Rain