Flowers

A life as passionate as this fiery beauty, 

of innate charm and seemingly

un-

ending flame. A woman inquired of her lover. 

"Where do these flowers go in the winter?"

He answered unwavering

"they perish into ruby red dust

unrecognisable to the naked eye. 

Un-

less

they remember who they are

they may never return.

Un-

til they do

to rise again. 

Resurrecting 

as shimmering 

sandstorms

in the land of no rain.