Morning Rose

Morning rose from a discontented night.

Droopy head from midnight rain.

Scented kisses torture known

of silver birch cane

And heaven’s bells.

They sounded true.

The graveyard still.

A portrait.

Petals full.

Their bounty ripe.

One more desperado pluck.

One more desperado fuck.

To demonstrate.

How we all


The beauty of the morning rose and drink her dew.

The bells of heaven clang.

Her petals


The wet.

The wanton


on my lips.

On my hips

the morning rose

despite the long and callous night

The scent remains



To every dew drop thought



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