from Azalea to Zinnia

Lasting Impressions

Press these flowers I picked for you

Between the pages of the book I have yet to write.

Let their bloom perfume pulp fictions

In place of long left rotting though novel ideas,

Buried like bulbs beneath the dead leaf prose of autumn.

Let their petals print an indelible description

Of a femme fatale looking through frosted windows

For a figure planting plots in the grey of winter gardens,

So come spring and the start of new chapters,

The forget-me-nots trapped between pages

Still waiting to be written, now long forgotten,

Will give way to new bouquets from loving hands

Of wildflowers waiting to be found in fields

Along with words from a book of promises for you

Authored over a lifetime of lasting impressions.