ODE to the flower hearts

ODE to the flower hearts
Sipping on the reminisce of all that was arid or aroused, cheapened petals on her skin shimmer under the sun- oh what is to come- oh what is done, be done. How it pains to be a flurry, ablaze and yet not extinguished-but Be you the brush that did ignite? Be you the warped wiry thorn of youth that strung about in crucifixes? They that glisten and glow danced upon that envious throne and of all the triumph in the wind, it still blows its gentle command across porcelain skin. Soothing the flame making a steady rhythm, the heat that licks her wounds and welds the pieces. Mind engaged, heart enraged, sail her way or let the fetter fight its course through the fickle waves of sand and leave her the Y's, living in a dune of a home and rip tide. Oh ash- where you so rare before, how is it that you began to take on such form? A petal of blood so pure that covers the wasteland and drinks deep of earthen sun how does this come? Floating somewhere in between, push the stem out from underneath- oh fair red beloved, do you bear any more thorns to prick the yet alive and instruct them to keep breathing? Oh but red raven, are you now going heavenward or towards the son? Tell them her destination, or be but still in this desert and expectantly address in the skies, oh those skies of uncertainties- how i see them every new beginning in the blue eyes of a mirror that stares directly back into mine.