Stained Dreams

His gentle fingers held the rose, between his thumb and his index finger, careful not to wake the sleeping beauty. He stepped lightly on the cracked pavement so to keep her warm ruby feathers wrapped around her shoulders. The clouds drifted lazily in the sky, like delicate day dreams, as the deep breathing of the wind sang her soul to sleep. He opened the small wooden gate and her intoxicating perfume joined the smiley flowers, as they blinked drowsily in the afternoon sun. He walked up the stairs to the neatly trimmed porch and checked his visage in the face of the window of her house, brushing aside his walnut colored hair to reveal eyes of sleeping forests. He held his little beauty against his chest, soothing the music of his heart. The rose waked, piercing his hand and letting his dark, sweet nectar drizzle down his palm. He lifted his stained hand, and his heart knocked on her door.