The Last Rose

     
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She only wanted

to be loved like the last rose,

it wasn’t a lot to ask,

and she showed you exactly how

to love her; her present,

her future,

…her past,

it wasn’t any ability

that you lacked,

you were not incapable

of filling

unconventional cracks and the voids that she mentioned,

it was only that you didn’t

pay her enough attention, to learn all the

littlest things;

and so if you have never seen

her sing,

while she

cooks dinner,

never seen her spin around

and dance,

when she changes the sheets -

perhaps it is only

because you were asleep,

when she asked you to know her.

And if you wonder,

what she looks like

on a freedom-kissed beach,

or how strong she is whenever

she reaches,

the top,

of an arduous climb,

or what she wears,

indoors,

on a lazy,

Saturday night…if you don’t know her,

makeup-less,

with hair, tied, in a bun,

or soaked, and tanned, and wild,

under

a beating,

foreign sun,

perhaps it is because you never got done,

making her feel, like that

very,

last rose:

…most beautiful and cherished and plenty…to you,

being whichever ‘her’,

she chose.