Given

When the beautifully crafted crescents folding in and around Each other, turn from vibrant hues to A dull maroon, I will still Keep the crusty, aching, fragile Carcass of the once fragrant Gift you gave to me. It will not awaken in me the desire To breathe in the scent hidden Beneath smooth, veined layers. It will not, even, sadden me to see Such a lovely, although materialized, Item meet its gentle demise. I will not remember the days when it was Full, basking in warmth coming from The window of my room, a tilted space with Memories shaken about. Shadows cast upon my shelves Will be the home of this Dearly departed reminder. Its parched petals, Starved from nutrients in order To illuminate the nascent eyes Of a girl liberating the lenses Of glasses from dust and dirt, Will remind me of the soft Pressure of your lips, out of which come Words I believe in. I will become Enveloped in warmth, packaged Into your compassion, where my truest words are spoken. I will hold the shriveled, forgotten and cliché expression of affection, and know that in the insignificant palms of my hands I hold the blossom of a beating heart, the only gift from you I ever asked for.