Deep White
For Yukio Mishima

What's left of her petals.
Hues of scent cede
a spell slicing rafters,
waiting for the rouge
that never saves.

Mouth where blood was kissed.
Dreaming hair of bonfires
lays beside disdain
to wash the saber on the floor,
wishing to embroider
her eyes in lace.
2003 Christopher Chen

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