“Rose”
Can the son not just melt your leaves into potpourri? Make the scent of your love last two steps closer to forever. Flowers are nice. But the 500 alarm and 1800 hours return home don’t afford me the 62 drips it takes to feed you, and keep your petals erect. Your needs and my time speak with different dialects. They’d frame it lack of trying that in just days you’re dying but I swear it ain’t neglect, so I’m asking. Please. Transform. ‘For a rose by any other name still smells as sweet.’ I beg the scent of your love to last closer to forever. Don’t deny the son’s rise. May He melt your leaves into potpourri.




