If I Were to Give You a Flower, Now

If I were to give you a flower, now,
it would still be a rose;
dried and pressed,
in an envelope,
second class,

But it would only be the petals,
the bright, beheaded petals.

The stem I would keep to defend me,
All the pollen I would frame and hang.

Any thorns I would swallow,
to give this pain a reason,
while the leaves would be bandage
to the wounds that would heal
tomorrow.

And of the roots,
the roots and bits of dirt,
I would make a meal of

and I would not share it.