Desire of a Flower

By: John Sharp

Desire of a Flower

Our passions moved like the wind.
Desire burned like flames until there was nothing left.
The scent of her and the smell of a flower, for me, are as one.

The long lasting memory of her touch, her taste, fuels my burning heart, after what seems like eons.

To know, and to have, but too of lost is a pain and a joy of moments long passed into the hopelessness of need.
Fate moves her hand in unfair ways.

Looking, seeking, asking, but never finding; is a rode for the
dammed.

Hoping, trusting, being, is the path for the meek, for someday, someway, somehow I will find the desire, of a flower, once more.

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