Flowering Poppies

I want to fall asleep on a bed of poppies –
They have no thorns. Their flames will consume me

In ash, and I will rise again, a pure whitened baby with red skin
And a golden beak.

They will tug at me in my sleep, and I shall inhale
Their invisible smoke. – Oh what rapturous fumes!

Your skin is blood red, like the sunset, will you blind my eyes
If I stared at your corona?

Murderous like the night, and I shall peel
Your petals one-by-one. Each one tells me if you love me

Or not. And oh, in the gorgeous golden sunrise I shall wake
To a sea of poppies that drown me in their seduction –

Blood red, like a bathtub and a dying man with open wrists.