The fragrance of fresh roses
can be felt in my diary
They're not fresh,
they're dry roses.
But the love
Is still
Alive
I feel
you breathing
in space between pages
bookmarked by dry red roses
and wraps of cranberry chocolates
Which smile our names as days pass.
YOU ARE READING
Unspoken: A collection of poetry
PoetryThis book contains some pieces of poetry which had been left unspoken by me, by you, by the world. ❤
