Tolls to sand

My hand fractures a breeze of wind, 
not allowing it to reach 
a dying rose. 
Don’t judge me wrong – 
it's not kindness that drives my gesture, 
for it’s not like the wind’s absence would alleviate somehow 
the flower’s fading. 
It’s pure selfishness behind my move, 
and overflowing with rapacity, 
for I want that rose’s death 
all for myself. 
I want to breathe in the bloom’s demise 
and pin its proof of evanescence to my memory, 
so that the next time when I’m presented with one, 
I will recall the taste of brevity 
and cherish it as such.



© Liliana Negoi


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