The twentieth poem from my poetry collection Conception. An earlier version of Tulips was first published as the June 2004 poem on writelink.

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Tulips

You stop as soon as you see them,
stunned perhaps by their vivid redness
or the perfect oval that crowns each stem.

Your fourteen-month fingers touch the tips one by one.
With a gentle caress, you raise each closed cup to your lips
until you come to the last, wilting in the sun.

Tear-shaped petals weep away from black insides.
But you kiss her too, looking past her dying glory
to where deeper beauty hides.