One amongst many, this flower.
Nothing flamboyant about it.
Is barely half a finger length,
Fine as embroidery silk,
Green shading to almost brown.
Under a magnifying glass
The leaves, a brighter green, reveal
And at their heart
Tremble at a breath.
No perfume, but a hint of chlorophyll
Teases the nostrils.
Touching, we bruise. Possessing, we destroy.
Notes: Today’s prompt was to “write a poem in which you closely describe an object or place, and then end with a much more abstract line that doesn’t seemingly have anything to do with that object or place, but which, of course, really does.” I’m not sure I’ve quite managed this.