Celia dreamed the roses
from her own kitchen garden
all bloomed together
one April night
and the scent drifted out
to the edge of the water,
beckoned to a stranger
waiting at the lake's edge
a ribbon of fragrance
like cartoon perfume...
luring him...
drawing him...
up to her window
and the
open invitation
of the moon across her bed

then
she thought she breathed the chill
forest mould between his kisses
the musk in his hair of a long-caged thing...
though they drowned
all drowned
in her attar of roses
in the crush of the petals,
the slow-arcing moon...

but
she must have let go
sometime before morning,
untangled
and lost
with the last of the darkness
black crumbs of leaves
in the folds of the bedsheets,
the dream sliding into
new roses unclenching,
smearing the sun's yolk
all over the sky...

03/09/2010

Posted on 03/09/2010
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