Pink Bouquets

by Samuel De Lemos

And in my dream I was
Finally able to say
How I felt.

To my sister
Who remains
An enigma.

I choose a
Different path
From her—

The path
Where I walk
On stones that
Appear,

Under the
Clear water,
Unafraid.

A perfect poem
I can whittle,
I felt
Growing inside,

I have crafted
White arbors
And sold
Them to
Unsuspecting
Gardeners before.

I know I can whittle
Words,

Like a florist
Arranges pink
Wedding bouquets.

Things that my
Soul guards,

Upon hearing it
She left expectedly,
She always leaves
In a huff.

The bouquet
Was caught
By someone who did not
Believe in the unity of
Love.

My Rose grew in solace
Under a white arbor,
I also tenderly whittled,

Every year it grew further
And further, seeking
The comfort of the sun.

How can I embrace
You when the thorns
You’ve grown still
Pierce and make
Me bleed?

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