Every now and then I break down
And buy a dozen roses for you
Who are no longer here in bodies
In case you need a place
Of beauty to come back to
Now and then and not just
My memory's weedy yard
The thing about roses is
I have no favorite color
It's just the form I covet
Of an endlessly opening cup
And the sense it was only
After roses the human body
Could find a place to rest
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