White Roses
White paper bends in the heat,
the air drips, collects in the china palms.
Transparent silk, edges strain for breath
the crystal droplets woven through.
An opening eye, twinkle borrowed
from the sun. Some part of a cloud has fallen,
emerged in the garden. They stand as torches,
guide your eyes.
Rub your skin across their flesh, return to innocence.
Picture red hot passion on their petals,
cooling in their centre.
Splashing in their scorch.
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