you never did like roses,
too average, too cliché,
yet you were one yourself,
prickly but pure, elegant but elusive.
the dirt streaks my pants
as i set down a marigold
next to your grave.
the roses already wilted.
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YOU ARE READING
Forever June
Poetrythe ghost of you keeps me awake [editor's choice 2021 | poetry] [cover by @qixing]
