The Trouble With Roses

Fresh or flase, somehow they fail
to fulfill the promise of their beauty 
 forever
The petals peel into pretty bloom
revealing red, romance
 Symmetry
Then upon closer inspection, nearly
 invisible insects that invade the heart of its sweet smell
And upon firmer grasp, the defenses that failed it to begin with
 once you'd gotten hold
 
and now your hand hurts--
shoulda known better
But the appeal of the undying perfection of
 Silk- save disaster, will never fade
Always bright, ever polite
 never alive
The plastic could not pierce the callous on my fingertips
The  odorless fabric could not even turn my stomach
For the memory of the moment it lived
 and the fragrance of its oil, still soiling the potpourri
I'd rather bleed or vomit