It Doesn't Happen

It doesn't happen with the roses    
when they're rich and red in bloom    
as her exquisite fragrance engulfs me    
in the sanctums of our still shared room    
     
her moon dips behind the shadows    
summertime lovers leap into the unknown    
dried up petals swept off into the midnight    
departing, she has no where left to roam

     
it doesn't happen in the sunlight    
as beads of seduction slip into the sea    
where soft sultry skin is soaked by warmth    
and yesterday's memories remain to electrify me  

     
cutting deep are the clouds, casting aversion    
constant rain, the pain, the dark, the shame    
pounding taking, the insane, walking away    
crushing each piece, leaving me with the blame