Traitors

The red roses over there,
yes those in the blue
ceramic vase on the table,
are eying me hungrily,
they could so easily
grow roots in
my belly and
produce black and green roses.

Till I had no more
nourishment left and
was a skeletal being drained
of a useful mineral, and
petals would fall off seeds
blow in the wind to
other hosts, the last indignity done.