Indigo Rose

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All of my sensualism is espoused

To the drowning waters that swarm any soul,

That soak in those pitiful splendors.

 

Flourishing inside, the color that is me;

While the garden’s evening flowers

Bloom, without anyone to pick them.

 

But descending from spring’s green fire

Is a dropping off of every cherry petal,

Falling hopelessly into the winds of oblivion.

Published 5 years ago

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