An Osiria Rose

Forest walls become too dark when hickory trees loom and osiria’s synthetically bloom. Roaming red and white, intertwined lips save bliss and delight

One warm touch of a hand that spirals through knuckles and spinal imprints preserves the intimacy of quivering currents and tangled bodies that recognize their loneliness as they plummet into bed

Let’s fall into a river and let the flow swallow us beneath the surface of the rain ridden water. The tear stricken oils that emerge from your own eyes intoxicates my tar filled lungs. Memory doesn’t serve us anymore, either blocked out with intention or withered away. I choke and I sputter because my heart is all aflutter

Even after your dead eyes have drowned, I won’t say goodbye. I won’t say goodbye when your corpse lies on the river bed, cut by stones, unable to stifle truer words. Your veins spilling blood after I claw your arms and your neck because I miss you. And I miss you now and you’re not even gone yet. I won’t say goodbye. But I’ll have to say goodbye. And I’ll cry and I’ll cry