Roses And Barbed Wire
Precarious they fall
a sad florid display.
Waiting to curl and wilt
velvet scraps of crimson.
Winding in their chaos
each dying breathes a rose.
Pressed into memories
of perforating thorns.
The fragrant scent incites
its bleeding wine of tears.
The bouquet bittersweet
is intimately worn.
There is no elixir
or perfumed remedy.
Petals caught in barbed wire
are captives of the heart.
©J06
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