Withered
Just staring at you
Made my eyes sting.
How could something so perfect
Hurt me.
Your thorns were once
Implanted in my thumb
Your colour blinding.
So much stronger than the sun
Then like all things that are born
Are destined to die.
You're now withered form
Is creased between pages.
And now you look beautiful
Perhaps more than before.

15.7.03