She had bauble breath. And a violin nose.
Thighs like a Cuban cigar. I wanted her placenta for breakfast.
I wanted to see her ambrosia tongue lapping milk.
She sounded like naked; pine, woodland-blues.
I have to remind myself she was torn from my ribs.
I spend my evening now sketching her bend
in our three tier viola wedding.
Usually I would request that you reserve it for your man;
On this occasion -
my machiavellian, mace-bearer:
Allow for me to gaze upon the dance for the lucid.
Cut flowers, sodomy and flamingo bells in pretty in pink.
J. Rose (25) currently lives and writes in the North of England. He has appeared in several publications including The Journal (UK) and has performed locally as guest poet. He is a practicing artist and musician and is currently writing his first novel. Nocturne in Crimson is taken from his first collection of poetry titled Lithium Clockwork. J. Rose actively supports those who have been affected by mental health.