My roses have started to pop, their tissue-like petals seemingly suspended in air. It is this passing moment of beauty that leads to predictable gasps. Ah, and the smell! Divine, like a bowl of heavenly fruit.
My roses have started to pop, their ridiculously intricate frills fall to all sides as if some crucial thread perniciously snapped, releasing the bounty of their garments without any concerns for modesty. Roses.
Such tarts!
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