One Perfect Rose

My Perfect Rose

Our love is not a perfect rose—no power
Has blessed it with sweet scent—clear anisette
Smooth sliding down the throat of life, not sour;
Not a perfect rose.

I brought you roses in the early years;
"This is my heart," I said, "you are my heart."
And you would take them, crying happy tears
For our perfect rose.

But life brought thorns of pain and bitterness,
And boredom, ennui, day to day to day,
But still—I've always known—there is no guess,
You are my perfect rose.