To the Belle of the Ball

for my best friend, GKRO

There's the remnant of ashes,

the stained white rose petals

which scent smells of a dying

charm rest like broken earthenwares.

there's no death in beauty

as it is relative to perfection

thus, it is a selfish possession,

a gift of property.

like the quality of ashes,

it is vulnerable, it can be destroyed

but still it has its pulchritude

tangible yet for others, it is imperceptible.

it is the standard of taste

that defines beauty

as i said, it is eternal

for the word itself

captures the kind of elegance

and grace it could give,

it blooms from the lips.

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