A Bouquet Poem by LeeAnn Azzopardi
A Bouquet
I am yr virgin white, baby breath
Contrasting yr rose
With the colour of a whore's red lips
As we sit in a vase wilting
Yr thorn is cutting my delicate stem in half
And falling onto the floor
I am picked up by the vacuum cleaner
…I would pick them up too. And put them back in the vase with fallen petals beside.
Even dried up flowers maintain a certain color and delicacy. I would pick them up
This cutting poem would make a great addition to a movie like War of the Roses!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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10/8/2024 9:56:00 AM # 1.0.0
What a great metaphorical piece! Beauty meets a terrible end. That's the truth of life!