A Few Peach Petals
The roses I picked for you
have not withered.
Spiteful, rejoicing flowers.
Blossomed on the coldest days
of early Spring. Opened-out
when the relentless rain
battered the pitch of the house.
Flowered when the wind
lashed out against the porch.
We laid under wide covers
and made love in protest
against our nation's hate.
The xenophobia in immigration
debates. Our Oreo skin, naked
and entwined, a statement,
an act of rebellion. We made love
to wash away our sins.
And when we woke,
when the kind sun rose,
a few peach petals lay
gently by our bed.
Dean Walker
Copyright © Dean Walker | Year Posted 2007
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