a dying Rose

unto my lips doth the blood 

of thy precious petals

flow sweetly into oblivion.

our love - a dying, delicate flower,

casting it's crimson lifelines 

to the winds.

perhaps, a newer, 

more beautiful bud will 

open it's soft skirts of gossamer velvet

and envelope us in the warmth within.

our happy, sunny haze has clouded, 

and i no longer want to embrace your love -

like all good things, this has to end.

but, our hearts are already beginning to mend.

i love you.

we were happy.

Author's Note

im not sure, but this may be iambic pentameter....