I didn’t know that flowers
Might whisper different
Sweet nothings
To those around them.
That the pale petals of
Marigold,
Would warm
The chill in one’s veins
When they drink
The iced wine
Of grief,
Tinting memories
In the gold
Of remembrance,
And help
To thaw
October mornings
In the midst of a souls winter.
While at the same time,
Adorning the wrists
Of a bride.
The sunny yellow
Reminiscent of turmeric
Smeared on the skin
For vitality,
And darkness
In the henna
Painted on her palms,
Caressing the slender bones
With a kiss of
Anticipation
For a new spring.