The bloom of the flowers
In the flower shop window
Makes me think of you,
The memory of when
I saw your flower
Spread before me,
The way all these
Flowers are,
Exposed to the core,
Drips of dew clinging
To each fold,
Falling off only
When I touch
Each pedal with
My finger tips,
The memory of
A flower past
Stirring up
What was
And is not now,
And all that remains
Is the sweet scent
Yet even that
Barely recalled.
I see the flowers in
The flower shop window
Yawning pedals pated
To take into their hearts
The heat of the sun,
Each fold parting,
As if to welcome
Affection, and to
Inspire heat
These cannot get
Alone.
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