Rose of our mornings

We gave to water the pink that I had brought to you. Offered to testify to my need to love you. Gently, we deposited it. With happiness to see it from to go away before fading. Transporting our passion. Well before the inhabited waves of insanity come to carry us. By superstition. As if we were anxious. Of what could arrive to us. We did not hesitate. To give up it. Rose of our mornings. Beautiful. Equipped with our memories mutineers. Fresh. Made up reflections of sparks. Carrying the arrows. Love. Who joined together us. Around. Desire. To further push than tomorrow. The burning need to be caught the hand. By superstition. Now, some share. There is a place where the heart of a pink remembering our union beats. It is not a chance. If, later. Its memory. We will accompany until our last sigh.