Taken by the twisted groping hand
She squirmed till he screamed
he begged
he pleaded
he fell to his knees
as she fell from grace
into his cold blue hands
freezing and lifeless she lay
crimson eyes open
towards the approaching violet dawn
she faded
turning to sand and smoke
incense in a desert land
Sweet cherry blossoms did she smell of
and her beloved inhaled
So deep
he overwhelmed and fell backwards
into the black and golden sand.
She was his again
in form of scent and memory
she was his again
even though she fell from grace.
Ever would he cherish the cherry blossom tree
rooted from the sand of his beloved.