Lunettes de roses

Peeking into the folded thighs
Of the night before, under the
Better half of the lurking moon,
Clematis flowers on the back of a star-
I like you raw and uncompromising.
There is a little glint in the eye
Of the fruitful hatred as the wildling
Makes a kill at the familiar mask.
Off we shed the petals, the tears, the sighs
Until the blood and lead of the yellow
Tulips grow into a reader of the day to come.

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