Sub Rosa

Under the rose
I whispered her honour
and watched her move
parapets in umbra –

opaque object and total eclipse –

of every façade she bore,
engaging the elegy
alongside the open door
frame to slam
yielding patronage –

the centaur –

into the wraiths
of penitence and providence,
shambling with all
the propinquity that tints
her fragile thorn.

And I?

I am the brute
of a thousand depravities,
holding her fire
to her exquisite lies.

Poem © Phen Weston, 2016



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