Said In Part

Impacted in lunar surface, 
the centuries of dust and 
dust of centuries, were willing to surrender 
orange love, 
hovering over your trajectory. 

The second death will not 
come, flesh consumed. 
I will draw your profile 
in white desert of psalms. 
Life was a big funeral. 

Footprints in snow were vanishing. 
I have come afar from the 
home. I don't want to leave 
the traces of my missteps. 
Time was very venomous. 

The roses will not die, never.