Under The Rose by Colin Dardis

I want to slice through my belly

and rip out the fat,

Become less in myself and more

a striking whore

to the temple of roses

hidden beneath my skin.

Come kiss my crippled breasts

and count each rib as if

this cage held piano keys;

our music could be perfect:

semi-quavers of lust spilling forth

from maestro fingertips.

Come tattoo your foreign land upon me.

Just close your eyes and imagine

silk instead of hair.

Can you feel the surrender?

Dance closer, before the flame

extinguishes under the wait.

Colin Dardis is a poet, editor and freelance arts facilitator from Northern Ireland. He runs Poetry NI, where he edits Pen Points Press and FourXFour Poetry Journal. You can find out more about him here.

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