The clock strikes midnight and the only thing in the house is the thornless rose and me.

Flower girl,
you are my calypso
head deep in the wisdom
of nothing
send me reeling out to
see
the raw nature of a
thornless rose

 

clip all the storms
and place them on the kitchen table
arrange them in a bouquet
covered in green tissue paper
I’ll wait for the storms
to mature and wilt
but I keep gazing at the
foot trodden doorstep
waiting for my calypso.

 

 

 

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