Early purple

blooms of cosmea,

in the sparse grasses,

in the granulated earth,

pierced and punctured,

between two roses struggling:

their roots tangle,

squeezing each other

until one submits

and sumptuous oils

catch and then release

their differences.

 

Glazed with spice

and salt, the roots

dig deep into the secrets,

lessons learned

from The Day After,

scavenging for sustenance,

and from the love bombs,

roses enweaved

with yellow buds,

all racing to be first

to reach the surface,

by thrusting upwards

through the clouds,

growing faster

to taste the cold

water of victory.

 

Late harvest this winter:

olive tears, dropping branches

trimmed from existence,

pitched into the graves

of the giant groves,

sinking deep and covered

by the smell of sweet

jasmine blooming,

their tangled,

intertwined vines

now all growth

to dust and dying,

from those that

grew before them.

 

by Kristina Blaine

Listed at Duotrope
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