Dead Rose

A red rose,
I never saw flourish but once
and never saw die
until you told me so
is pressed in a book;
a time capsule,
a place for memory
to recall true beauty.

Immortal as it seems
that rose, flush
with a bright red smile,
the frail bud crumbles
a little at a time.

A thousand more
roses once roamed
in the wild, but earth-bound
flower, I picked you
while you lay in your bed.

And with wetted lips,
I would kiss your hard petals,
make them melt tender,
if it would breathe truth
back into our life again.

But light fades from our sky,
as the sun parts the day.
Eyes dry as your skin
must rest, and savor
a taste of faint memory.
Close the book. Mark
the page. On the shelf
our love will remain.