Rouge Bouquet

*Rouge Bouquet*

Obviously it was a mistake, those round eyes and

fully adherent lips circling the sea - its

masculine voice drawing

giant shadows, bending hearts over

Sunday sandy fields - moistening what would soon become

faces, sad faces embracing in long

velvet dreams, the sort that suck your brain into the depths of

sugar lyrics and warm sperm; obviously

the mistake of counting waves, their

individual repetition falling as thoughts against

skeptic flowering walls ready to shout out

their spring meaning. However, their silence

remains the rouge bouquet one drinks before

love and death - garment of souls.

At such times the sun

as an ever lasting mother temple

shines its kindness and constancy

making it all seem so brute

and simple.

© 2018, José Coelho