First Rose

First Rose

first bud of spring
squint at her glory —
spotless, purified
ready to be deflowed
(dare I)
sacrifice her chastity
so that no neighbor will
sniff, lick, or covet
with pleasure.

soul
sound
soil
grounded love.
harmonious silence.

I cannot dismiss this debut:
a diary of yellowed redolence,
nonchalant simplicity.
people of the white rose.
queen of the red rose.
I am of the yellow rose.
the first, my only, soft, unique
blossomed rose, ready to go.

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Hear this on chirbit

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Written for:

Just Say What You Don’t Mean: Irony

Photo Credit: Bat-Ami Gordin  © 2013 all rights reserved, credit if you use it, please.