My arm is deep within the bush of ros’s.

Cuts and bruises do not cause me to cow’r.

Bleeding may I be, yet I still chose this,

For an achingly temporary flow’r.

Though the title most perfect suits you not,

See my epitome of perfection.

Certain reason for my love can’t be sought,

Yet I look in no other direction.

Is this experience not so profound?

A brief moment found unordinary.

That we choose to intensify the sound

Of a harmony so momentary.

         Our rose and our song shall end, inevitably

         But wat’r the rose, amplify the melody.

written on April 23, 2019