the blackout

Waking too late in the afternoon, the room is

A cavern of questions, darkened by pulled shades, elevated on empty bottles of wine and torch lit

Fire should be licking up the walls, bringing it all down around us, but like the devil

The walls are too wet to burn, too dry to boil, nothing  but our innards left to steam

Not a crack for the vapor to escape through anyway, so the air becomes too still, paradise happened

And too much noise, must have erupted into hell

When I knelt down to wonder if the blood splashed on the sheets is yours or mine, your fingerprints

Put rings around my neck and they blossom, stretch inward to swallow hard around stone

The mirror showing swollen yellows and purple, behind ballooning glands together a 

Royal primrose, to carry me further down the road