Dahlia.

You were a deep, dark Dahlia
and I couldn’t help being drawn to you,
even though my favourite flowers
are usually roses or carnations,
sometimes daisies and sunflowers, too;
but there was something about you
that no roses, carnations,
daisies or sunflowers had
and I don’t quite know what it was,
however, I do know that it made me nervous.
I wanted to pluck you,
I’m surprised I didn’t extend my fingers and do so,
I wanted to pluck you
and keep you for myself
but I knew I should not
because I didn’t have a vase befitting you,
and if I did, you would wither
and all I could do then
would be to bury you in my diary
filled with roses, carnations,
daisies and sunflowers ;
so, I gazed at you while I could,
all the while preparing myself
for the impending goodbyes
I’d have to say when I had to walk on
and I thought
I would eventually forget you,
I thought your fragrance
would leave my senses
and I thought I would stop waltzing
in time with your gentle swaying;
but the truth is that I cannot.
No, how could i forget you when
your smell still lingers as though
I have my face buried into your chest
and I still waltz alone
to the breeze you swayed to?
You were a deep, dark Dahlia
and I wish I had plucked you.

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