Winter Rose

                                    

the first time I touched your face
it was the first time again
a touch so delicate
with traces of you
holding me in your arms

and the first time we kissed
it was like the last time and then
I fell on a shooting star
into a thorny garden scarred
with the ache of crucifixion

the wine we drank was a
dangerous brew
stars kissing the night
ripe with moon pouting
over the crushed petals
in our silence

would that I were a
rose rooted, bowed and bent
in simple prayer
when mother moon consents
stars kiss the night
and mystery's veil is rent

if the first be the last
let me wake to the laughter
of daybreak dawning before and after
let us dare taste even life's bitter hour
a winter rose bud of blood-red flower