A Poem A Day, Poem #21

what do i know about roses?
but the mind makes softness from
the red light of your hands, like
petals anywhere descending onto
a drip of a dream
like tendrils tumbling in the pouring
rain

what do i know of your water?
but that it tastes like the rain
when the summer slumbers into
fall and the color of the world
changes into a song made thirsty
by your orange absence