Thursday, November 20, 2008

Flower pedals are pressed...

Flower pedals are pressed
between a book's pages
like thumbs cradling them.

We breathe out,
close our eyes,
as they bleed tones,
pastel into woven sheets.

They too are forgotten;
we too are relics
living in books afterward.

People pluck pedals
to remember with wistfulness
the finality of blossoming.

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