wholelottarosie

Hot breath, rough skin,
warm laughs and smiling,
the loveliest words
whispered and meant
you like all these things.

But, though you like all these things,
you love a stone.

You love a stone,
because its smooth and its cold.
And youd love most to be told that its all your own.

You love white veins, you love hard grey,
the heaviest weight, the clumsiest shape,
the earthiest smell, the hollowest tone
you love a stone.

And I think I believe that, if stones could dream,
theyd dream of being laid side-by-side, piece-by-piece
and turned into a castle for some towering queen
theyre unable to know.

And when that queens daughter came of age,
I think shed be lovely and stubborn and brave,
and suitors would journey from kingdoms away
to make themselves known.
And I think that I know the bitter dismay
of a lover who brought fresh bouquets every day
when she turned him away
to remember some knave
who once gave just one rose,
one day, years ago.