Petal

A petal (rose, naturally), encased in glass like a crucifix, never to touch the ground,
But still it falls.
Into your closing hand, closing and grabbing at the strings of lesser lives
And rose petals. Like cyanide, but without the bittnerness, whispering that this time, and this time, and this time, there will be no crash, only a gentle fall in the wind
Of rose petals, grey this time, and no romance. Only you and I, on either end of the petal, as we struggle to find each other, but the petal is still falling and weaving and tumbling and twisting and turning and i do not beleive we shall ever touch at all, but shall remain, like rose petals, encased in glass, never to die, never to fall, never again to touch.