roses' petals kept him,
                twirled him inside white throws,
         blanketed him in relief
and then sealed him up.
they painted him in pollen,
they walked him with stamens,
and he never looked up, either,
because his roses filled him.
they throbbed thorns beneath him
      that never struck him,
          and he never snuck down, either,
              because he had roses to swaddle him.
                     his roses kept him.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^'

9:49AM
Friday June 22, 2018

You turned my hair into flowers
A metaphoric bound you gave them
They became beautiful flowers that you enjoyed watching them bloom
But when I saw them as roses with thorns that cut me
You insisted they were soft daisies that brought protection
And when i brought out the scissors to cut them,set them loose,
Your anger came as a storm hissing on how I could do such a thing
On how I could **** something so beautiful
I howled for their beauty is exactly why I cut them
For I would like a bouquet to fence around me
These thorny roses shall do, keeping others out
But you insisted once again that they were daisies
You insisted that they gave a blanket of protection upon my shoulders,
That the river of hair down my spine was all I needed to be beautiful
-sol

your love stung,
the last time
i tried to
hold it tight

perhaps it was
poisoned by past lovers
and they've forgotten
to hand you the antidote

or maybe,
you've wrapped it
with sharp thorns;
like a wild garden
unexplored and afraid
to be trampled on

whatever it is,
it's spreading to me;
but i could tell
it's from the time
you broke my heart

red roses
and tulips
petals
in your hair
lips
on mine
a day
like this
something
in the air
fingers
on my waist
sweet
cherry taste
this love
of mine
bound
by crimson twine
blood drips
from tiny ******
sharp thorns
with ruby tips

Kamau Brathwaite wrote
That "the hurricane doesn't roar in pentameters"
And I really believed it could be true
That Caribbean hurricanes had their own cadences, their own dances :
Ida was reggae, Allen was merengue Brigitte was gwoka
David was cha cha cha and Edith was kadans rampa and Dorian calypso
All dactyls hatched instead of iambic pentameters
Out of each island Zeus 's head
Until i met the still eye of Hurricane Muse.

Muse was her nickname
Her real name was Shar
Named after shark and share and shear
and sharon,
Named after a calypso rose
Fearless except for lizards, a rose of  tiny thorns
With a taste of a stormy black coffee
Born to a dragon of Jade and a   white *** tigress
In the midst of the 1961
hurricane season.
Shar has the S of Sébastien Sally Sam Shary Sean and Sara
The H of Humberto Hanna Henri Hermine Harold and Hélène
The A of Andrea Arthur Ana Alex Arlene and Alberto
And the R of  Rebecca René Rose Richard Rina and Rafael
And she dances not only calypso
And quadrille and zouk
But a mix as well of Salsa Hustle Affranchi and Reggae
In iambic pentameters
While she gently paints fearless green lizards
Having her five iambs of coffee
First thing in the unstressed and stressed morning
Before she even opens the syllables of her still Muse eye.

roses
blooming
thorns
scratching
the inside of my lugs
the petals
itching
softly
i can't breathe
but i don't want to