Dark Dark Red Roses
I remember when
love spoken plainly
conveyed all manner
of hidden agendas
hands instead of
tap dancing keys
unlocked
a body of work
stroked skin melting into
sultry deep pink summer satin
caressed with a racing
velvet lipped kiss
smelling the other
hint of warm leather
dived deep
swimming freestyle along
the undulating waves
towards the pulse
at the base of a throat
then, down towards
the place where the
heart beats fluttering
signs read
a welcome
bend in the road,
before heading south
reverse the journey north,
just at that place
where a whisper
can be heard
under the ear,
the hint of freshly
cut silver grass and
dark dark red roses
the tongue becomes thirsty
for life catching
rivulets like rain
running along curves
dipping into the
unexplored
hollows,
but surely
like a fine wine
that has once
come-of-age,
ready to be
poured into it all,
the law of love
offers no
fast and hard rules,
the field
is wide open
the grass
so much greener
there grow
the exotic blue orchids
bending into and over
all those bleeding
dark dark red roses
Candide Diderot. ‘24
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