Sunday, June 2, 2013


I am convinced
no man could love me
just for myself
I write in crimson blood
filled with the inkwells
that are my veins
you passion rose for me
but who's to say that is love
I am the blood red rose
the violet purple bougainvilleas
enmeshed in its thorny boughs
I am enkindled with fiery light
all glowing redness...
I want it to go away
instead I pour out
like rosy wine...
The enormity of my dissatisfaction
bleeds my heart dry.
Enough I say - enough
I am enswathed in scarlet robes
entrenched in a bloody pool
an aftermath of love
Valentines red hearts
cupids arrows, and entry
into me... as you did.