the Scalded Rose

Love's passion abounds in gardens, finding not only blackened soil for botanical purchase; feeding on leftovers of Apollo's largesse, not flourishing at the center of humanity's designs. What a grand and garish garden this nonetheless is: how ornate and undying its blossoms; how evolving their vines taking new and color-kissed forms, ever new colors of poignant palettes; forms of flower petal pistol yet unknown to Eden and everything after; the highest blood ferocity and passion left not for the human and animal worlds but for mere herbs and blooms: the still unfolding heralds of our racing modern world; petaled deposits of the celestial, sentient stars.