Monday, 18 February 2013


I picked a rose
Petals beautiful and soft
The sent mildand alluring
Unlike other roses
This one is a master piece
Matured to perfection
It has no thorns
The stem smooth and long
It fits in my palm pefrctly
Like a missing piece of a puzzle

Can anyone blame me for picking it up?
From thousands so ordinary
Maybe because its perfect
Or maybe
Its because I simply want to own something beautiful
With days I know decay will come
To claim what its owed

But till then
I am holding on to it
While its still fresh
Breathing in the sensual sent everyday
Basking in the fragnance so pure
So pure its almost toxic
Tomorrow the sun will rise
And my rose will be no more

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