Leo of the Rose
by Chris Crittenden

are roses lions?
they have manes,
they have claws,
they have eyes that dominate
a quivering life.

they taste blood
that spilled into the earth
and slowly worked its way up
into their drippy mouths.

“death comes back around,” they growl,
stalking in the wind. when someone
snips them and puts them in crystal,
they have caught their favorite prey.

bees are hors d’oeuvres.
storms a libation.
now come the human gazelles
with fancy lopes and gawking necks,
their throats plump with sound-
flighty words
that crumple into tears
much sweeter than rain.

every petal laps
the emotional succulence.
every thorn lunges
into a heart that cowers under thread.

and as it’s always been
the herd flees, leaving the victim
to be devoured by roses.