The late William Shakespeare once wrote, “A rose by any other name

would smell just as sweet”

He wrote this and suddenly I found myself

staring down a barrel, the trigger

the way I form the shape of you around my lips

I let go of the safety and so you bloomed into my chest,

a seedling of everything we are to each other 

burrowed beneath the suffocating weight of all we will

never be

That is to say, when the next body to grace my bedsheets

has also been christened a rose,

I will convince myself it is not her 

sound-like-you petals and soft-like-you thorns

that have lead her to plaster closed the chasm

you left in my throat. 

That is to say,

I will never not try to find you 

in the crest of my lover’s hip. Or her cheek.

Or the way her mother calls her by your name,

because it will always only ever be

your name

And I know I will never hold another hand

like I held yours 

as we pulled each other, wrist to wrist,

heartbeat to heartbeat, chasing our breath and a moment of clarity 

all at once,

my words two steps ahead of my feet

as I woke you from the bliss that is not knowing a thing

you now cannot imagine

having never known

and it was all I could do not to fall asleep beside you and pretend

I had been dreaming this whole time

When I told you I loved you, I lost you.

That is to say, I have not seen another rose since

I have not pricked my finger on another thorn since,

Have not heard that song and not thought of you since

My garden-stained hands are tainted with the thought of you but I never
meant for them to dirty you as well

This burden now for both of our shoulders,

I am guilty of loving a thing purer than I.

I try to recall a moment afterwards in which you made it clear

you did not want me gone but I struggle

Find myself backspacing as the untruth of what I am trying to remember becomes apparent

I’ve known for a while now that you will never see me bathed in light

the way the sun dances over your timid petals

But to realize I am only a shadow, a backlight to his radiance,

is a storm I was not prepared to brave

So even still, in these not-belonging-to-you moments, I manage to find myself

rewinding into who we were before we knew each other like we do now

And I wonder, had I kept my tongue quiet and left us at a crossroads,

would we have been as stunted as we are now

here in the echo of all I said?