Il est Ma Fleur Parfait (He is My Perfect Flower)

The garden walk holds stones for stepping, worn to dust by weary legions
And ash of eternal Lover's bond falls like once pure snow
Cold, the wind whispers close, yet its caress warms the skin

Journey on, near comes the pond of Desperation's tears
Feeding endless flowers of beauty; Cannas, Cherry Blossoms, Roses, Bleeding Hearts- besting the peacock's pride

But I pick to zealously examine them all and none can satisfy
Neither those that flaunt a luscious youth nor shy behind the thicket
They join the ashes, spent and worthless
Fade does their fresh green innocence with their crowns of vibrantly joyous rouges (reds), saphire, and lavande (purples)
Alas, the floor is littered, and barren are the brousse (bushes)

I glide forth to the pond to add to it my own
When the flicker just beyond, flares love's very hope
But absent it is whilst I fervently look and seek to find the source. Just to be sure.

'Round a lofty hedge, I gingerly turn
Oh, my heart's arrhythmia as I watch his startled eyes
Their midnight sky shimmers with lust and love to mimic mine

We rush to touch, patience long worn, till horrified we find
At the fore, towers a wall of smoothest glass
Frigid as the heart of cruelest vénus (Venus)
And polished silver backing, flawless as the narcisse (Narcissist or Narcissus) reflect
Abominable is the terror as epitomic is its victim

I yearn with others for his petal-soft ivory skin
The golden sun-bleached hair and smile fit to shun the summer
His perfection reigns all hearts, mine is no exception
Il est Ma Fleur Parfait. (He is My Perfect Flower)