A Never-Happened NIght

Many years ago, In Greenwich Village, I observed a purchase being made, paid for with a pocketful of loose change, carefully counted out.

A Never-Happened Night
by Odin Roark

Flowers bathed in sadness
are flowers that remain without light,
that smother within an airless wait,
as if suffocation were its destiny.

Having once begged to be caressed,
to be touched for remembrance.
slowly passed into petals laying languid and solitary.

To become a deep breath that once knew of fragrance,
a bouquet of joy once given,
but never received,
a snap-shot in waiting,
but never taken,
becomes a never-happened night,
a melancholy whisper from the past.