Yet Another Rose

“There is something horrible about a flower;

This, broken in my hand, is one of those

He threw it in just now; it will not live another hour;

There are thousands more; you do not miss a rose.”

– Charlotte Mew (‘In Nunhead Cemetery’, from The Farmer’s Bride)

 

Ah!

Ever seen a corpse

So pretty and delicate?

Coffined in a rich bouquet,

Severed fresh from thorns,

Expressing your love

Through its pure deadness,

Stocked in foreign vases,

Or buried in secrecy

Till they turn crispy

Fossiled somewhere

In a tale of romance,

Till the pages, fully drenched,

Start leaking red

And the book releases

The fine fragrance of murder.

 

This one.

Yeah, this red one,

It sure is a perfect carcass.

Soaked in blood,

Tainted with passion,

Numbed by the desire

To embody love.

O lovers, beware!

Rose is not alone

When it comes to love.