Dedication to a Loved One
By Heather Jean Ariizumi

The flower cupped in my hands
must die to realize you are here.
Falling rain of soft petals, red blood dripping.
Do we die every day?
Your thought instills desire to live and die
even though the awaited birth fades away.
Flickering permanence, only a dream
mirrors who I am and hate, yet also will be.

Many lift the rose with promises estranged,
like my reach for change, the thinning beauty.
The curled leaves thrown, they fall and dissipate,
allowed to wilt, blacken, crumble beyond reach.

Now I touch, alone, three roses given in love.
Like life my skin surrounds the flesh to make my decision
while the fated death chain my will.

My realization, my gift: the grips were what killed.
So I accept you, the rose, and it becomes me,
grows into my body... the pulsing throb... the permeating sea,
the caressing heat holds me in its arms.
At last I rest in your soaking embrace.