Bitter fruit
Framing their passion
Tasting their dreams
That sour taste in their mouths
One by one the roses fall
Onto the blood-stained step
One by one they fall apart
And the flowers all stooped and wept
Nothing to hold them together now
Slowly disintegrating
As if burned by a hot, passionate fire
And blowing on the ebb of the breeze
Fragmented particles
Bitter fruit reminiscent of perfection.
