you are the only white rose
in a sea of red

you are solace in turmoil, where my eyes
lay to rest and my heart beats quick

you are ruler of the bush, star of the
Christmas tree, moon of my sky

you draw my gaze, fuel my lust,
i look to the skies not for the stars but
to stare directly into the sun

but such as the sun does blind me,
so do you ***** me with your thorns,
pale face of rejection, moonshine of
pity, but not love

like the clouds covet the sun,
a hand caresses the spines,
and i lie on a bed of thorns,
for the hand is not mine.

i'd die for your frosted sugar lips,
**** gemstones rolling down my throat,
cutting my flesh into diamonds

seal your cheques in typewriter's speak,
i'd die for the rosy thumbprint over
my eyes, blind me from blood stains and
ink rain

bakery's closed, but you're still open, and
so am i, as we slow dance in the fading lights
of slow burning ovens, creeping warmth like
limbs around mine

i'd die from the bittersweet taste,
insidiously beautiful, black crumbs
in open wounds, ashen eyes hiding regret

as he utters slumber's name, i awaken
from beneath the counter,
dying to live
living to die

we clatter the seabed, grey-blue
curves dusted by sand, collectibles
forever left behind

we funnel beneath the *****,
beige shores, hidden from the sky,
out of sight, out of mind

we grind stones and pebbles,
fine as the freckles on your face,
against our chapped lips

we nurse the cracking carcasses,
saltwater biting at our raw cheeks,
puppets, helpless in the tide

we are hollow, devoid of shine,
and we feel our beating pearls
gasping for air in your poisonous,
silken pockets

a mountain of bricks, glued by memory,
hand-built by you, hastily put together,
mistakenly given life, a glossy trophy,
i am a mountain of bricks you walk over

a splash of dye, a spill of ink,
i lie red, white, black and blue,
you cleave crumbling edges, watch me sink,
profanities in cursive, defamed by you

i bleed over the cracks, paint over the lines
as you take me back, piece by piece, brick by brick,
scatter me to the earth, burn down the signs,
i am a mountain of bricks, sweetly sick

there's a catch in my throat
a lump, a bump, a sudden
crosswords of air and thought
and the notes are suspended
midair, empty, a vibration
with direction but no motivation

there's a catch in my throat,
a hurdle in the road, a pothole
of accidents and apologies
and the music abruptly pauses
a welcoming dissonance,
warm but jarring

there's a catch in my throat,
and I can no longer sing,
and the rhythm has tumbled
and fallen, and I cannot catch my breath,
but still the silence goes on,
and I can only listen