Remember when you crushed the rose
between your fingers until the petals stained your hands
soft and red, delicious the scent
that filled the air between us. Bruised
petals drifted, spent
confetti of the celebration of us.
Wilted, rain-washed to dirty white,
too soon the rose
was trampled under the heavy tread
of everyday, and we never saw the forgotten bits
wash down into the drains.