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Disneyland holds all the answers
But now you would go skiing
With snow-blue eyes for company.
My fingers on splinter-blunt thorns
Feel wrong, as if the pressure of
Bending a wire could spiral the stem,
Unnatural, twisted and shattered.
The tips of cream-silk petals bleed.
This is what happened to me, then,
Being there at the wrong confluence of time,
There and shining with no one looking.
I grew my own thorns, climbed into a vial,
And the blush bleeds from the petals of my skin.
BY Dragon Master
