My Rose
The sun calls through the red curtains, making
A sanguine glow in the room, the same shade
As last night’s dress and heels. You hadn’t stayed
Out late, unlike last week; not forsaking
Anything with texts missed, no risk-taking
As we’d agreed: thanked each-other and made
Future plans, good-night kiss; might’ve played
Out something like that. Pretty rose, quaking
From more deaths than I want to count, yet still
Through generations the cliché survives
(Though in the ring I lasted years until
I was gored by thorns, a red cape hiding knives.)
So when you wake I will still cross this strait,
Penelope, with the hope you will wait.
The sun calls through the red curtains, making
A sanguine glow in the room, the same shade
As last night’s dress and heels. You hadn’t stayed
Out late, unlike last week; not forsaking
Anything with texts missed, no risk-taking
As we’d agreed: thanked each-other and made
Future plans, good-night kiss; might’ve played
Out something like that. Pretty rose, quaking
From more deaths than I want to count, yet still
Through generations the cliché survives
(Though in the ring I lasted years until
I was gored by thorns, a red cape hiding knives.)
So when you wake I will still cross this strait,
Penelope, with the hope you will wait.
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