I set fire to a rosebud
Its petals were pink
arched on the verge
of bloom
promising
turquoise skies fluorescent dreams violet breaths
and the aftertaste
of dust
I set fire to a rosebud
it would have been pretty to see it
in full bloom
layers gaping and fluttering
its thorny stem encircled within
your tender grasp
crimson dripping through
the callouses on your fingers
I set fire to a rosebud
paper skin folding in on itself
smoke still smelling sweetly of you
crumbling into delicate ashes
crackling with the cadence
of your name
I set fire to the rosebud
because I saw
it burn
before
I saw it bloom
