Dust Rusted Roses - November 16, 2007

Dust suffocates inside my suffocated eyes.

That she should
sulk so poised,
with such perfection,
in that reflection.

Who taught her face to hold such grace?
--that simpering disgrace (gloved in lace)--

I wake, blood beneath me--
flooded femininity from my scalp--
under my nails which binds the trails
and scales
down my scar
tracked
back.

The roses tied tenderly inside my sighing exhalations.
Like lust exaltations, slowly shredding trust I had reclaimed;
regained.