Blue

Blue, but you are Rose, too,
and buttermilk, but with blood
dots showing through.
A little salty your white
nape boy-wide.Glinting hairs
shoot back of your ears' Rose
that tongues like to feel
the maze of, slip into the funnel,
tell a thunder-whisper to.
When I kiss, your eyes' straight
lashes down crisp go like doll's
blond straws.Glazed iris Roses,
your lids unclose to Blue-ringed
targets, their dark sheen-spokes
almost green.I sink in Blue-
black Rose-heart holes until you
blink.Pink lips, the serrate
folds taste smooth, and Rosehip-
round, the center bud I suck.
I milknip your two Blue-skeined
blown Rose beauties, too, to sniff
their berries' blood, up stiff
pink tips.You're white in
patches, only mostly Rose,
buckskin and saltly, speckled
like a sky.I love your spots,
your white neck, Rose, your hair's
wild straw splash, silk spools
for your ears.But where white
spouts out, spills on your brow
to clear eyepools, wheel shafts
of light, Rose, you are Blue.

by May Swenson

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Comments (3)

Oh Dawn Fuzan! In all this world there are so few I would hope to talk to moreso than this beautiful being, May Swenson... Alas, I must wait for the stars to part for my soul to reach her... And I'm saving a very particular smile for that very day..... This incredibly lovely confessional poetry just ripped through me....
May This is a good poem, keep it up
To read with it is good. But real meaning is beyond ordinary reader and a little tough it is felt.