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.