The Ephemeral — The Midnight Flower Boy

The Ephemeral — The Midnight Flower Boy 

— Where rust becomes poetry and the look a prayer —

He holds the blue sunflower like one holds a secret,

fingers of worn silver, moss and memory.

Its stone hood brushes against what was —

butterflies embedded in the layers of its history.

His green eyes bear the age of a thousand ancient forests,

her porcelain skin contrasts with time.

It is the soft border between life and deposit,

the moment suspended between the flower and the rust that holds.

The golden zipper stripes his face like a crack —

between the world of the living and that of the forgotten.

He looks beyond, calm in his wound,

beautiful as a ruin that we have never finished loving.

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