Your hands touch me like Havana rain And you rise upon my quaking landscape In an gown of lashes Where Venus orbits Earth. I am but mist which leaves morning ghosts, Hairs by her kiss laden neck And a shape in cotton slowly going cold. She watches how I sleep Coiled in a cotton womb Where my body birthed a dream For the first time in a year. The dream was of a tulip Bowing to the roses plight It fragranced the lacerating wind Which mocked the thorns By impaling upon it The beauty it protected. The tulip wept for the rose But more rosebuds opened at dawn And tulips only blossom once But bow in death for beautiful life. So the rose sent a bee with some nectar And the tulip tasted beauty Before falling on to thorns.