When Spring’s hope fills the air, the rose opens with grace and a fragrant sigh.

Warm flesh greets ice-cold metal and gives way to metal’s pointed sting.

The space between heartbeats is silent but my ears ring with a terrible din.

Crystal speckles dot the space between my eyes and the hardness before me.

In Winter, the rose retreats into itself to await the arrival of kinder days.

16 thoughts on “Spurned

      1. Southern Maryland. I don’t recall an earlier snow, although my wife says we had snow on Halloween in 2004 (but then she knows what I had for dinner in May 1987) πŸ™‚


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