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Biographies Guestbook |
ROSERose, I paint a shadow on the wall behind your glance. You nod and smile your mimosa blush. Your eyelids like willows float closed and a bird flies from your hands, a green bird. Rose, behold for your hands this flower which as a seed bloomed your colors. Notice, Rose, the thorns’re blood soft! They will not hurt you. "This is not real" Rose explains, "Love, look how it wilts." "Your hair, your flesh will likewise wilt," I say to her standing in the bright shadows. "Oh, I know that someday my fine features will wilt and sag," Rose dances. "Yes, yes, but not my red silk dress." |
Page Updated: 6/12/00