Placed into a mysterious box for another poet to touch 

soft rattle of the hardened bulbs clink against the jar

shattered remains lie sparsely on the very bottom 

subtle wrinkles ebbed in each petal of the withered flowers 

brown knobs on each end that used to stitch them to a stem.

One alone the size of a silver thimble. 

Inside the rosy buds pile high in disorder

clear vessel is veiled in dust of blossoms 

almost seen through the fogged plastic conceals the insides.

Sweet aroma of the preserved plumage right within reach 

subtle hints of green tea waft the nostrils when cracked open 

sealed for ten years the lux gold top is barely tight.

Reflection of the holder's face on the shiny surface, waiting 

feel that cold top jolt the skin with a gentle touch 

held in the palm of a hand the jar is small and smooth. 

I have known the agony of trapped roses. 

Nicky Valverde (they/them) is a junior creative writer who likes fashion, teeth, analysis videos on horror, and anything that is mildly strange. Currently they are working on their seminar project of creating a short collection of sympathetic monster stories.