It took 400 years

In the Queen’s Garden at Hillsborough,

fallen petals from the rose plants

jumped at me, smelling of nothing

but looking pretty. I stole a few, if stealing

from nature could ever be called so, and

put them in my coat pocket, like stolen kisses

from unexpected lovers burning my dreams.

Often, vanity and power and influence stand

like deceitful partners gloating i…

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