With a last name like Rose you should be a lot more pale,
but I guess all beauty comes with a vice.
There’s a store painted all the deathly colors of yellow
that manages to bring souls together the way old Velcro sticks if you really want it to. We could go there and pretend that we know how to hear
more than watch ticks and heartbeats;
we could pretend to care for a while.
Some real flowers will blossom on some old person’s armchair
and the fireplace will only add to its artificial flavors.
You have cinnamon sprinkled on your face.
Don’t they call those angel kisses?