autopsy of a rose

autopsy of a rose

 

the pollen streaked sun,

drifting light as summer

                                        [by a glass jar]

droops fallen rose

                                        petal

                                        by

                                        petal

the sky

into liquid darkening dampened rouge

until all at once;

 

your cheeks wet with the finatum of a blue sky

(the sudden sterile ending,)

                                        of horizons like palms

                                        gripping thorns pulsing

                                        cloud smeared lipstick

 

our prints do not match our conjoined fingers

our two-headed silences are foreign languages

our skin intertwines like thorns warped with leaves

                                                                                my

your

                                        lips

 

tap against the flooded flower vase,

our green thick spine erect and forthright

shooting upward with leafy vertebrae

 

(and aristophane would be so pleased with us

that two--

                                        one heart drawn together

could be so crushed by its singular gravities;

that each red knot of muscle untangles impossibly

into one another,

that through our

four-armed

four-legged

pact

we are inseparable.

 

                                                we, who feign passing happiness

                                                as a rose wilts into a fist.

 

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