i tried to write you roses, red & simple
a soft bouquet of years of petals in bloom
and everything came apart in my hands
a mess of a dress tailored in dirt and thorns
all roots, and stem, solid footing in the wind
but alas i have no flowers for your hands
just ink & onion skin, and the color of the stove top on fire
simmering to east your hunger, rose hips in my eyes
with no book to break ground, a less lonely road with you
i have no roses, your birthday, a garden in itself
in bloom, irish skies, a midsummer night's green bud promises
when we wilt together, there will be roses and all the scars
of gardening down the softest parts of my arms
because i love you, like the bee loves his queen
isn't it beautiful...it makes me smile because i am alive and have love in my life....
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