He slowly picks up
the flower
that others have treaded
upon, up from the floor,
Couples are dancing,
and the hour is late
unhurried, moonlit,
Maybe, if he had held back…
not said so much, she and he
would have still been dancing,
And he would have been
breathing in, the scent of her
wilder than the rose’s.

© SoulReserve 2016

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