A Rose.

A Rose

Against the brisk, sharp-toothed tangles
Knobbed but elegant, straining gracefully
upward-- the fat and languid petals
unrolling, each arching base
and trailing fringe--
obscenity,
the dark, scented center--
depravity and
the rich tea,
distilled soil and rain
that curled up in my nostrils, resting--
wooed me for the world--
beyond all blasphemy.

--my, knobbed and elegant,
strong, tapered fingers-- between them
thick yellow muck, only a little
more when I clench, rubbing--
I spread them and a crumpled thing falls.

In its pulpy creases, the delicate folds
and fringes-- are one
and liquid, curled on the sidewalk
-- there is no hatred.