Faded Flowers

The flowers are perhaps, a bit past their prime.
Their heads are bowed. Hints of brown tip the petals,
but the there is still color there, bright promise
that transcends time and age,

the skil still silky, soft beyond measure,
full of promise and passion,
less a memory than a reminder
that love, true love, never loses it’s beauty

even with age.

So savor the flowers as they slowly die.
Breathe in the last of the perfume,
remember them, just as they are,
less than perfect. Perfect.

All at once.