The color of dried blood—
Pressed flat, between pages
Of a rudely pornographic
Coffee table sized volume
Filled with black & white images
Of classic Mapplethorpe
And the delicate petals
Dried and stiff
Are themselves a work of art.
I think of our first date—
Not when we met, nor
The first time we went out
But our first time alone, together.
You held, in your right hand
A single long-stemmed red rose.
I will cherish that pressed flower
And our love forever.
copyright 1996 Jackey Lee Hannah Vizzier