I suppose the promise of love still remains for some
                   wrapped within
                   the petals of a single perfect rose
                   or luxuriating behind
                   the tinted glass of the limousine Dorothy Parker lusted for

but give me again
                   a baggie of crinoids–
                   like fossilized Cheerios–
                   you collected from creek beds
                   that match those you strung on your necklace as a symbol of home