Roses Ask Pardon for Their Wounds

I dreamed you were Asia

and rubies were mined

from your mouth like a kiss

 

exploding blooms of silk

interference with

ev’ry fluid step dropped

 

from my wish.

 

*

 

It seemed your persuasion

might melt from my mind

the canvas stitch of guilt

 

Redcoating my sight if

men wading in its

fragrant truth could erupt

 

and commit.

 

*

 

Every soldier split;

conquests deserted

quotations we’d outlived,

 

leaving my face a quilt

unfelt—blank as milk

laundering love of its

 

enigma.

 

*

 

Roses asking pardon

trail balm treasuries

over my eyelids’ walls

 

and I know your garden

isn’t one at all:

a penitentiary

 

where thorns crawl.