Rose black.

Rose black.


I’ll sleep now with roses.

Red roses on a layer of black, solidarity on a foundation of midnight matt.

Silken sheen, dark petals between the mystifying hues of red and green.

You left my mind and a thorn kissed the pad of my finger.

I don’t need to explain the pain.

It was exquisite, devine, beautiful and romantic all at once,

Painful, sorrowful and sad.

You left me longing for more before we’d begun.

We’d not danced.

We’d not spoke.

We’d not had fun.

The thorn hurt too for a moment.

I stretched and the vibrations cascaded in a hieroglyphical hierachy of petals, top of petals.

Pyramids of comfort and wonder.

I was allergic and you were my cure.


© G.P Williamson 2017




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