I collected them
from their metal button holes
in a women’s bathroom stall.
I tucked one 

behind your ear, the other
behind mine. I did what I could
with them: message
in red, in elongated green, 

message in true thorn.
I did
what I could.
Should I have 

taken them
with me when I left
your room at dawn? 

A perfect poem
of the ridiculous becomes
subtle, becomes two roses
crossed on a table 

we left behind
by choice,
we left behind
by choice,
say it twice
for both of us,
for what’s left of them.