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two edges of a sword. two types of blood:
honey and wine.

in which way was i killed by the knight?

by what sweetness was i slain?

do help this soul who walks the graveyard of

heaven on earth.

i want to find my tombstone,

find my body decaying in sultry, golden honey

or in savory, burgundy merlot.

where is my living amongst the dead?

was my lover killed by the knight also?

is this person sweet, too,

decaying sweetly in honey or wine?

legend has it the fragrance

of a certain love can only appear to those

whom loved themselves to death.

the knight kills those souls again,
for something more;

double-kills in this graveyard are rare,

but they happen;

knights only know how to kill someone
whom has killed himself

before mortal death meets him.

this decay is unlike what one feels

six feet beneath the soil.

if people killed themselves and let the knight behead them,

this place would be a garden of fruit trees and flowers;

blooming, bleeding, and sweet.

:::

they speak of roses, romance,
an infatuate love-things.

i used to see with those eyes
but no more.

i see something more simple. more natural.
"natuate";

it is smaller yet still intimate.

it is not a rock thrown in a pond;
it is a rain droplet that falls and
ripples on and on    and on       and on
evenly and smoothly and velvety
and endlessly and quietly.

at times, a rain storm will surge in my bones
---call it a thunderstorm.

that is an animal storm.
however, storms do pass.

it is hard to believe in red paint anymore.

give me how it grew;

if it grew white,
give me a white rose.