Pages of Life
I kissed the rain and it flitted
away
like a precocious teenage tryst
~when wet lips taunted
the shivering dew on a morning rose.
but, roses were always too mature,
for adolescent whims and
too sophisticated to be genuine,
and way too honest to embrace
pledges of forever...
After many years we open to a page
where a crimson flower was pressed
and wonder why
its fragile existence was ~ saved?
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