Bloom

This rose, these stains of rosy red bleed from it’s petals it is said the perfume lingers just as sweet by other names laid at my feet, now leaks the attar from its heart into its mystery, pierced by this lover’s dart. This rose, its colour now is gone, its lovely form becomes undone, this rose, this one of many things ceases to be, and yet, it’s essence sings of lovely days and nights of bliss when I came running for her kiss.