Harlequin Rose (Nebraska)
Come Into My Parlor...
...and let the sticky residue of memory
let me cut you
so that you will fit
and fill the moments between
shall I give you my flower
to open as you please?
and imagine all sorts of vain things
as you dropp to your knees?
raging furiously like true heathens
at the touch of such wetness
and such rage
we loosen our limbs
and climb into the clouds
where we are nude among the angels
they regard us as their metaphor
the chosen among their brethren
and they fill our tongues with stardust
so that we may taste heaven.
Comments about this poem (Come Into My Parlor... by Harlequin Rose )
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