Wednesday, 7 June 2017

The Last Rose

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,
on a lazy,
Saturday night…if you don’t know her,
with hair, tied, in a bun,
or soaked, and tanned, and wild,
a beating,
foreign sun,
perhaps it is because you never got done,
making her feel, like that
last rose:

…most beautiful and cherished and plenty…to you,
being whichever ‘her’,
she chose. 

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