The course of this love,

Is all creases and curves,

Where the folds hide coyly,

The secrets of the bud,


The blooming pain,

Of its magical transformation,

To a charming pink rose.


Reveal with aplomb,

It’s silky countenance.

Yet concealing it’s scars,

And an unsaid pain,

Of a short existence,

Diffused in it’s ecstatic fragrance,

Making lovers wonder,

What stays in love?


What fades away?

love: pain: rose

2 thoughts on “Love…”

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