Sea RoseColors here aren’t the same.Neither that of Spring,Nor Summer, nor Fall.Close to Winter,chalk of long-stripped bones,dark grey of wet stone,salt of churning sea.Only when moon greenswith limelight, in morningor dusky mist, mightyou see my liquid breath.Passed into my netherwith stab and twist,life ebbed, left with tide,after which my love soughtnew flesh to groom.Yet don’t…