As virgins, the roses flew.
Slowly drifting and scattering,
Themselves amongst the ashes of love.
There whispers of adoration now silenced.
But as dawn rose so did the roses,
And peacefully they did drift, like a dove.
Until they touched the black,
And golden sea that is your hair.
Slowly sliding down towards,
Your lips, and like rain the roses slid.
And when one met with your lip,
It too became a lip.
Then out of that lip a being started to form,
Out of the sweetest of love,
And the purest of lips.
That you posses.
The roses were now a man,
Who at last found his sweet lily.
This poem was written/submitted by Guy-Adler Dorelien .