It came at a glance
like flash
over another path
of a joyful and inventing will of youth.
Crimson roses lead to the short cut,
teasing and taunting uncertain reminiscences.
On the edge he wanders the path,
still the smell of barren temptation;
sweetly incinerate.
As his,
the one he wanders,
endow with logical raison d'être
of non-abandoned.
Inanity is only what pushes him off.
The knees are cracked bend,
his imprudence youth reminiscences tow the leg
one on the edge
until it sees the bend,
or the other wanderer over it.
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