Outside edges sub coming to outer forces.
Yet, still maintains some sort of graceful beauty
Halted in place,
Fighting against the will of gravity.
No fallen parts to clean,
Beautiful fragments of a memory fixated to it’s perfect stemming
Picture perfect in the sunlight beaming,
Through the living room window midday in July.
Like there’s some sort of meaning to its newly decided place in history.
Scentless, motionless, and frozen only by time’s given line.