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

Obey

The beauty of the morning rose and drink her dew.

The bells of heaven clang.

Her petals

Fall.

The wet.

The wanton

dissaray

on my lips.

On my hips

the morning rose

despite the long and callous night

The scent remains

Wild.

True.

To every dew drop thought

Anew.

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