Roses

Sidling nearer to the edge of the glass
the roses eat away at reflected sunlight.
All petals pressed between paper
on a white shelf
and the scent lingers for days
after they are released
and mixed with other fairy pressings.
wings, separated from the beneath of a mug,
the kitchen holds
roses in eternal steam on the windowsill.
The blinds are off-white.
The fabric lets the morning in
and yet the roses sleep on, half naked,
because they weren't awake, ever,
They were cut from the womb of the thorn bush
and wither still in REM.