"I would have treated her like a flower."

"I would have treated her like a flower."
He had told me, cupping yellow petals.
One slight movement, the gentlest touch.
A love remembered, nostalgia in place.

But this, a memory...
A glimpse of a boy in spring.
When butterflies fluttered, March mornings came alive.
I sat listening to a man narrate his longing.

He spoke of a delicate love,
One that rooted deep.
There were tinges of purple,
Scarlet, when his passion had blazed

Strokes he wanted to leave.
Those marks he wanted to absorb,
Screams that touched his beloved.
Gather them, her and cease.

Wrapped in words his love,
Left me the tale,
His love, and mine.