Wednesday, September 2, 2009

I keep a vase of dried roses

Sometimes I pick one out and smell the dust gathered
between the brown petals,

Then I lick the thorns to see if that love still hurts.
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2 comments:

  1. AnonymousSeptember 3, 2009 at 6:55 PM

    What makes you lick the thorns? Do you want to, or do you not want to, but find yourself unable to resist?

    ReplyDelete
  2. happybirdycake.blogspot.comSeptember 12, 2009 at 11:57 AM

    love this poem!

    ReplyDelete

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