I remembered her

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She didnt know how much she meant until she emerged from the concrete. Roses don't have eyes like us. They can't see their own reflection in the mirror. If she could touch her own petals she'd know how soft she was to the touch. The most refined silk. This roses touch was a sacred  geometric center, moistened with all of its natural nector, and preferential for due season pollination. Butterflies and Bees alike
This rose, she was scented among the fragrances of pharaohs, the smell ignited enobled flames and immortalized moments in time. Ah,
... her succulent tastes, ... if describable. I'm speaking in haste. I could tell you forever about this precious flower. Her moves through sunlight, rains, and how I preserve her through storm season and warm her winters, ... imagine her purity through my eyes.

(C) 2019, Diallo Robinson-Bey, all right reserved

I do not own the rights to the attached song