a painted first kiss

The painting was magnificent,
The colors,
The emotions,
The feelings,
All bleeding out,
Begging to be perceived.

The edges of the painted canvas,
Like frost on a window,
Covered with an icy blue,
A color so pure,
It could only be from Winter's first frost,

Pure innocence over a velvet black,
The frost slowly gives way to darkness,
A deep unforgiving black,
A limitless abyss,
Only achieved by a blank mind,
Freed from the Winter's frost.

A soft scarlet glow,
Piercing through the dark,
Emanating from a mound of rose petals,
So red one can only imagine the pure love
That fostered them,
The color so vibrant,
The petals seem to rise out of the canvas,
And the faint smell of fresh cut roses,
Seem to linger with the painting.