A dried flower
delicate dustiness in a forgotten book.
Close it all away to disintegrate slowly.
Time goes on,
relics of past love long lost
lie pressed between the pages of what had been and what is now.
Remember it,
the flower that crumbles into blackness
dreaming of the sun.
It’s the story I read in your face,
The smoke in your voice, the pain in your lips.
You have waiting eyes,
Waiting for god knows what but left waiting far too long.
It’s the smile I see which sometimes is very real,
The hope for humanity is contained in your kiss.
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