The rose was
not looking for the morning:
on its branch, almost
immortal,
it looked for something other.
The rose was
not looking for wisdom, or for
shadow:
the edge of flesh and
dreaming,
it looked for something other.
The rose was
not looking for the rose, was
unmoving in the heavens:
it looked for something other”
The rose was not looking for the morning: on its branch, almost immortal, it looked for something other. The rose was not looking for wisdom, or for shadow: the edge of flesh and dreaming, it looked for something other. The rose was not looking for the rose, was unmoving in the heavens: it looked for something other”
Posted by ghawass | Mar 19 at 10:31pm | Discuss