A Rose by Any Other Name

A rose by any other name would 

Still smell as sweet.

They say. 

Covered in thorns,

Small, sharp, devious and ugly 

Beauty--in its natural state--

becomes danger. 

One graze, can break open

Soft pink sink,

Allowing watery red

Bloody to exude

Out of pores like 

A leaky sink.

A rose by any other name would 

Still smell as sweet. 

Decay. 

Exsanguinated petals lie 

Lifeless and pale. 

Depleted of water,

Frail and withered to the touch.

No trace of lushious tenderous  

The sweetest sent--

One you cannot ignore: 

L’eau de mort

Inevitable, inescapable 

You bathe yourself in it. 

Stems severed, roses beheaded

In one swift cut. 

All so they can rest in 

Their grave alongside

Empty cheese bags,

Apple cores, 

Plastic forks,

And paper plates.