by Oubah Osman
(Inspired by “The Bleeding Roses” by Salvador Dali)
stormy standstill woman, a languid, smokeless fire over american planes. what could be of her, her with thighs and many, many hues?
she stands with her gut of bleeding roses.
she blends, stormy woman, lustfully down.
what of plateaus? what of plain yellows in the shade of orange-browns? when
she is a bleeding thing of
absence. presence. (potential)
folding up and inward.
who will mend my soul?
she beckons towards whispers and away from legless amour.
and i have died somewhere in the waters below.
and i am drowning peacefully down.
where are we
when what we have come to know
is no more?