You embarrass the roses
I see them leaning together, whispering, looking,
Murmuring in spiteful, jealous consensus
As you pass by
The authority of your stride moving through your skirt
with the subtlety of a breeze
You’re wearing your Mona Lisa smile
And I know
That the secret that fills the vortex
at their centre is darkness, emptiness –
Their petals shamefully shroud this painful secret
Until time undoes the strings of their bodice
and they are dissolute
The roses know
That your eyes, your centre, is filled with liquid electricity
that is ever lustrous
That liquidity, that electricity
Is the current that animates your animal grace
So potent that, at forty-four,
It’s begun to scorch the filaments of your jet-black hair
And the roses know I ache for you,
and they also know
that your light
and my ache
are the same.
Theme Park at its Darkest 