Petals

I stole the dew
from moist breath,
on tinsel nights
in copper bowls.

I inlaid the drops,
on rich roses,
with the spicy fear
of a royal jeweller.

I cut my knee,
my prostate romance,
the pilfered dreams
of holy men.

Throw my petals
in ancient gutters,
my love for you
is archaeology.


Image Source: Andrew Harrison