You gave me a rose br last time we met. br br I told myself br if it bloomed br our love would bloom, br & if it died- br br O I did not br consider br the possibility. br br It died. br br Though I cut br the stem br on a slant br as my mother br taught me, br though I dropped br an aspirin br in the water, br br it hung its head br like a spent cock br & died. br br It stands br on my desk now- br straight green stalk, br blood-red clot br of bud br drooping br like a hanged man's br head. br br Does this mean br we are doomed? br Does this mean br all lovers br are doomed? br br O my love- br I have not read roses br as amulets br in seven years. . . .