If only this was blood ...

outside my window
stands six roses
blooming like grenades
above my head

oh how I envy you
and how you peel
yourself open
to let things crawl inside;
how you let the wind
tear you apart
and scatter your genitalia
across the lawn

and remain beautiful all the same

oh how I hate
the way you force me
to write poetry
just to bleed like you do

yet remain ... all the same

... maybe spring would arrive.