The Girl Next Door Knocks at the Door
A garden rose is her desire, being
herself an ancient species, flesh and treacherous
but pink and practical, eyes
forget-me-not. We snip a rose
that's opening, petals lipstick-smudged.
Strip thorns--no vicious prick
shall send this princess off to sleep a century.
Your bud needs water, I say--go
stick it in a glass. She loves me she loves me
not she strips each velvet petal off
discards it like a losing card. She loves me
not. Click clack the shutter of her smile--oh neat
white teeth! Roses in her cheeks!
Skin deep is deep enough for me.