Rose

If I hadn’t gathered the rose
I still would have seen her face
I wouldn’t have known it from close
And still had my dreams and ways.

My nights would be fed of ice
My deedless days shiver away
I still would have known her face
But in the true light of dismay.

Deserted, I’d be drunk of sand
Far fountains would spit out death
It still would all run through my hands
I still would desire your breath.

March 3, 2023