A collection of poems I am writing while on holidays, in my new, dolphin-pattern notebook.
The rose's blood-morph petals close,
As if they are locking a crimson, velvet chamber,
Softly lined with richest fabric,
The thorns are jagged claws,
To rip skin and protect flower,
The petals shrivel, wither, flake away,
The winter ices over the remains,
Buries faded crimson in pearl-white.