It's not even worth my time
anymore to try and track
where the Rose is going to
grow when the thorns are
all I can harvest even
in the midst of a kiss.

The wind used to blow
a certain swirl that
made you my world
that now just makes my
stomach curl even when

you're genuine but  
we know I'm Cyrano
and all he endured were
low blows and, oh my,
look at that nose,
even in the best pose