When Blood, a River of Roses, Runs


When blood, a river of roses, runs

and floods, a Phoenix rising red

and soaks your skin and cloaks you scarlet

rumbles creeks where sense has fled,

 

and rushes to your little head

as passion pulls and pulverises,

irises burst as dreams fulfil

materialising in all their guises.

 

When civility sheds its clothes and bares

desire in all its physicality,

surrender to your quickening pulse

accept the moment’s animality.


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