Flower Petals

There is only one metaphor I know,

And that is the one between your eyes and

Coffee-stained novels.

Mon amour,

You are beauty with

Charcoal smudges

And tattered edges.

I refuse to let you go

Because holding you is the

Last magic I have,

So I swerve away from the trashcan

That tempted me only

For a moment

And walk back to

The bookshelf –

Because that’s where I keep things like you,

Pressed like flower petals,

Living on only in the waterless vase

Of my recollections.


Thoughts? I love those.

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