The Dark Rose

The queen moon sets high majestic,

Reborn like every night from earthy breasts of mountains;

Disheveled clouds entomb their act

And go to cry their tears in phantom lands;

Lake’s poisoned water mirrors the waltzes of skeletal  fireflies;

Trees take their guard as keepers of howling winds…

Everyone steals their toxic-deserved rest

From Sandman’s bag of ethereal sleeps…

The reign of the night and dreams is about!

And in the silent garden we found new shine to thrill:

The foremost Rose artistic lays, like the shady old muses

Of the chaotic filoplume quill.

Was born in the abyss of the star of the butterfly,

Free and adventurous,

Her shape is perky and her breath of decayed aphrodisiac…

They beget untamed pleasures and pour tainted fantasies.

Its stem is thin and of the raw green,

Made from blood of spring’s first blade of grass…

With leaves curvy, minty and

Biodegradable, who leave her like the skin leaves the snake

In liquid, tantalizing movements…

And on the despoiled succubus, creepy tattooed we see

The sharp, deep penetrating, blackest thorns…

The sickles that beheads even the strongest of wills.

Its petals are made of the shiniest darkness,

And expose themselves fleshy, exotic, delicious,

 A filthy and flamboyant burlesque that

Gets you addicted into a thunderous submission.

The sepals are wild castles of bronze bones

And the roots are legs of the most glamorous ballerina.

A unique and zesty feature that gives the dark rose

Unequaled charm and noble features,

This rose’s hip is magical and powerful:

From it pours rotting, hot nectar

And putrid, livid ambrosia that both three hearts nurtures.