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A Fear of Rose Water

by Max Bouillet

The fine line between
flying and falling
is born in the aftermath
of an unexpected kiss.


Where fallen angels
rend useless wings
from their broken backs
and the disembodied stumps
flop uselessly
amongst oblivious lovers
who lick angelic
blood from tenuous flesh
and stuff pillows
with down that
was crafted directly
by the hands of
god.

She is the breath taken
before a warning.


The pillows become
a grave yard of tears
mixing with the blood
of dead angels
that litter the bedrooms
of the lonely.

She is the picture that
proves god,


burning in the ashtray
of a blind man
that has left
too many lovers
dangling at the
end of ropes.

Climbing rose vines
wrap around their ankles
and the winds are
trying to set them free...
trying,
but they fail in their intent
and merely serve
to drive the thorns
in deeper.

Their blood trickles down
pinking the water
I serve to my lover.

It tastes of roses,
and a vague sense of loss.

...and soon she falls
into my flesh
and we dance
and kiss
and ruin delicate
lace,

but we both know
we are doomed to trip
over dead angels.

05/29/2005

Author's Note: Stained with rose petals I fall into you.

Posted on 05/30/2005
Copyright © 2022 Max Bouillet

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 05/30/05 at 09:32 PM

Graphically portrayed with raw and poignant symbolism. Falling in love should be more glorious and uplifting don't you think? :)

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/30/05 at 11:58 PM

Fascinating, compelling update to that metaphor of metaphors, with dead angels mixed in for good measure...unxexpected, thought provoking.

Posted by Michele Schottelkorb on 06/01/05 at 01:42 AM

deliciously gothic... love affair in bloodroses... ye gods man, i love this... blessings...

Posted by Graeme Fielden on 06/01/05 at 10:33 AM

Sounds like you need to get a water filter, Br Max ;) But seriously...the flow of images is as brilliant as it is insigtful. The poem dances. One of your finest!

Posted by Mara Meade on 06/01/05 at 08:12 PM

Eviscerating in its exquisite beauty... the searing, the tearing, the raw intensity... this is incredible.

Posted by Karl Waldbauer on 06/05/05 at 05:41 AM

Duality is the state of all being, isn't it Max. Your mixture of blood, angels, agony, and the ecstacy of lovemaking is breathtaking in its scope.

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 08/09/05 at 11:07 AM

The dark side of "love" uniquely portrayed. Stark, dramatic symbolism.

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 06/09/10 at 12:07 PM

it is amazing when you think that before you penned this poem it was air, a butterfly to pursue, something spied in the distance that compels us to draw closer with our butterfly nets and in so waving such net you captured and presented us this beauty not to incarcerate in our brain but to liberate.

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