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I meant to write you about the poppies.
Seductive scarlet mosquitoes swarming,
Biting fields, train tracks, sidewalk cracks,
A passionate rash across Poland.
If I sit still, they grow from my
Sweat glands, tear ducts, scalp.
Mornings I pull opiate petals from my mouth,
Spit the vermilion bitterness of your
Romantic interests,
Sprouting on my skin
Without my permission.
Your prolific flattery grows red in a ditch.
I itch with insectile urges
A beautiful botanical red plague.


4 Responses to “”

  1. Sherry Blue Sky Says:

    Powerful writing, especially “I pull opiate petals from my mouth, spit the vermilion bitterness ….” Wow.

  2. Jingle Says:

    stunning and playful……………

    enjoyed it.
    :)

  3. Morti Says:

    My God! The words are an opiate. I’m stopping right here. I’m going to read this another couple of times, then return tomorrow for the rest. Too much terrible beauty in one sitting ;-)

  4. Marian Says:

    agreed!

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