BEYOND THE LAST ROSE

There was no flesh left.

No name.

No mirror.

And yet,

the embrace remained.

There are loves
that time wears away.

There are others
that time itself
learns to revere.

Beneath ancient candelabras,
among black roses
and the silent fragrance of the mist,

two lovers
still know the way
to one another.

No heart beats.

And yet,

the entire universe
listens to that embrace.

Love
was never the work
of flesh.

Skin grows old.

Bones surrender.

Centuries drift by
like ashes carried
by the wind.

There are passions
that refuse to end.

They continue breathing
within the memory of shadows,
in the tenderness of a touch
that no longer needs hands
to exist.

They remain there,

wrapped within each other,

like two prayers
that have forgotten
the meaning of farewell.

That is
what eternity is called:

when even death
becomes far too small
to separate
two souls

that have learned
to bloom

even among black roses.

J. Kasra — All rights reserved.