i want to bury your roses

before they become too real

- before they realize that they have been
murdered

and begin to decay

untethered

and stinking of age

and loss

and grayness

i want to press your muzzy

sleep-warm kisses

in a cheesy paperback

- bodice ripper

so they cannot evaporate

into the commute

of my soul to yours

and only lie

innocent and wondering

at the juncture

of where we will meet