Roses falling down the drain,
like water droplets and memories;
just soapy bubbles of a past.
Forgotten, forgetting, forget..
It all comes back with the dead butterfly wings
and shaved legs for tomorrow's dress.
Covering ears on the shower floor,
singing songs of kites and dreams.
Lightning flows up the pipes,
smokey tendrils erasing the present.
Simply yelling to a mirrored ghost;
just writing poetry to the roses.
