Rose petals,

Are bittersweet,

They taste,

Like memories,

Sour,

Sweet,

And lost,

Like gritty dirt,

And bristling plants,

And disorderly gardens,

And a smiling friend.

Black iron fences,

And rocks that line the street,

Lemonade,

And a barking puppy,

Heat,

And laughter,

The sound of forgotten times,

Walking down to the store,

Helping set up for a party,

Smiling,

Eating marshmallows out of the bag,

Ice clinking against teeth,

Questions,

And gentle smiles,

Moody but kind,

Older sisters,

Ice pops,

And ice cream,

Dripping down fingers,

Hot cement steps,

Under legs,

And gummy bears,

Thrown in the air,

To be caught in mouths,

Shoes filled with gravel,

And patient friends waiting while you pour the dirt out,

Pillow forts,

And arguments,

About who gets the favorite swing,

Iced tea,

And growing older.

Being forgotten,

And left behind,

Falling silent,

As you realize,

They don’t remember,

The memories,

And stories,

You tell,

About the times you spent together,

Drifting apart,

Like ice flows,

On different courses,

Just…
separating,

Until,

They’re gone,

And you’re facing the sea,

Alone.

All the taste in a rose.