It was the layers of roses
over her skull,
and the blooming trees.
Today,
the spring is full.
Her breath,
One pull
from death.
The lily swims,
beneath her skin.
The chambers open.
The red licorice disperses:
“Choreograph for me”
The dance
the rosebud
poses.
In your silvery taste,
they bury their noses
and without haste,
you give me your roses,
in which I rest
my forehead.
The veins;
your currents.
I whispered your name,
and as the torrents
flooded,
I claimed
you.