Because I promised more poems

[athena_penguin]

Here's one I wrote a while back.

A Rose
Ringing your doorbell, I held the roses
because in the market
the roses held me.
Catching my eye in the flower stall.

You say A Rose Is A Rose.
I say These are Roses.
Wrap them in newspaper
they won't last long.

By the time we sat down to the table,
it was too late to let the wine breath.
Sometimes I leave it corked, too.
Waiting for the right moment.

It waits comfortably in that beryl bottle.
Walls made just for it, reaching in to embrace.
Walls that will contain it
not matter how it is jostled.

The vintage is good.
You have an eye for labels.
Ruby liquid moves from one glass to another
taking the shape of each.

Before it was here, for us
Sunlight was captured, growth was twining
over a French hillside.
Does it remember?

Now you lift a glass to your lips
and the contents move unquestioningly.
What if it hasn't matured?
Unsavory notes to the bouquet.

The roses are wilting.
They weren't meant for trips on the subway.
They should be back on the bush,
left to grow this time, and escaping the pruning shears