beneath the rose

Oh you, American Beauty, your scarlet blush
drenched red in the poet’s passion and blood!

How I long to hold you, to embrace you,
to cradle softly your protected bouquet,

to crush your crimson petals to my weary chest,
you, newly emerged from your chastity of calyx,

hard-guardian casing of your resting essence.
How I aspire to discreetly reach out and spread

your pentamerous flowerhead with probing fingers,
to bury my face in your heady, unsullied nub

so as to inter you deep into my soul.
I admire you, secretly and from afar,

as you are many years beyond my reach,
and I can only imagine how it might feel,

for to pluck you would invite cruel sentence,
so we live our lives subrosa, in secret

beneath the rose.