Poetic lovers

You gave me roses.
That never die.
In summer I hate them
But I let it lie
In winter I love them
They make me sigh
That's how I feel now
Like a fake rose (oh my);
Like a wintered bubbly body
Ripe for the wet and dry lip
A full glass half empty
Yet still half full of colour
I look at your hands and arms
Too fiddling to cuddle
Your mind in distressed calm
Yet I love you so much
Every time I look at their charm
I wonder why they remain
When all else seems fare game
For insane waste repair words
That somehow fix me. It's absurd.