Kiss On A Rose Petaled Bed. Poem by Rita Pal

Will yours be kisses of death?
Will yours be kisses to haunt?
Will yours be kisses to taunt?
A touch of spice, a twist of fate
To remain untouchable for wedding pyres
Cindered kisses by the band of gold
Darkened magic of satin white
The lord of the ring, curses me to falter
No Autumn days to run to you
No Summer haze to speak to you
But today, I am frozen in winter
Paths spider until I am lost

Ghosted rose thorns of chilled winters
Slowly, softly like halal sacrifice
I stand empty in monotony awaiting
Grains of affection in the beggars mist
Blood drips slower, time stands shut
For there is no rose petaled bed
There is no twist of fate
There is no summer’s dawn
There is only a jaded pyre
For I am dead and gone.