A memory
A token of her love
Preserved, perfectly,
In the pages of a book
He thought he'd lost it
Too many years ago
His fingers tremble
As they caress it
The delicate veining
Darkened with time
But no less beautiful
He remembers
When she gave it to him
And all the whispered
Promises of forever
That were broken
She left him that night
Bled right out
In the snow-caked street
While he clung to her
And begged her not to go
This crumbling pressed flower
Was the last of the season
And the last picked
With those delicate fingers
He could swear he had lost it
Having checked every book
Heavy enough to have pressed it
Only to find it gone
Forgotten for years
It seemed fitting he found it now
He reached out to touch it
And she reached back to meet him
He died with a smile on his face
And an old pressed flower
Held to his heart
YOU ARE READING
The Places You Go In Your Mind
PoetryA collection of poetry that reflects the poet's state of mind over the course of many years. The poems are largely unrelated and cover many topics.
