

Art


essays
autobiographical



cweth@cweth.com
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The White Rose
dedicated to Andrea
the only person to ever visit my homepage :D
I ate the petals of a rose that once was a thing of beauty
she was pale and soft to touch
she whispered truths in my ear of both science and of the fantastic
her icy blue eyes turned to ice one day
so I ate what little beauty there was left and ran away.
'I could still love this thorny stem," sometime I think
but could a thorn ever caress me the way that her silky fingers used to?
could her naked hollow chest
pressed against my naked aching chest, ever feel so gentle as it did
when we were wanton?
could her heartless hands heal my hallow heart?
could she put the innocence back into both our smiles?
I'm sure that someone could
Almost as sure as I am that it isn't her, this rose whose beauty I've
nearly digested by now.
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