Rainbow of Sins II
You’re the kind of blood poisoning
women beg for –
the sweet burn of you
like fire red whiskey
sliding down a desolate core.
My armor is made of rain-soaked,
tangerine rolls of linen paper.
Yet underneath all the yards,
you should see my cast-iron shell,
painted in an apricot coat of resilience.
Near the light house, we could lie
naked, wrapped in sheets, in the sand
since everyone around us
would be too busy gazing at a golden torch
that’s not meant for them.
Farther away, there are emerald blossoms
that can turn into confetti
with a single drop of my liberation.
The rain always tastes better in Rome.
I’ve learned that indigo ink
is permanent, only if it’s used
more on an early, almost lover
rather than a beloved mother.
Violet violence is the good kind.
that’s when I’m bedecked
by that real kind of love
that sticks like jelly
then hardens into amethyst.