Stuck in a vase

What intimacy in a rose — 
unafraid to draw blood, it
entangles (or ensnares) all brave enough
to reach (stuck in that moment)
for a thrill.

Its perfume no longer pricks 
my nose (in moments overcome 
by desire I stick my nose in) 
bred instead for its petals —
so red (or pink).

I’ll let this rose rest in a vase,
passion burning in tepid water
(I must remember to change
the water) — safe from plucky hands
(and fingerprints).

Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Written for the Free Verse Revolution October Writing Prompt #5 : “roses”