After that first
Finger-brush
We have wings
This I have said

And I promised myself:
I would never
Again plead crimson
Amber delights
Never wish
For a hollow grave.

Twelve years of
Pollen and honey
Butterfly facade
Summer dance like rain

I fell asleep
Was tired, was bound
Was whore to Death
Lonely, flower-drooped
Nightshade that blooms
Hanging head petals.

But I bled
And this I promised:
I would not
Make art of my veins
Would not
Lay awake
Let hours drip by
For eyes to gloss over.