And The Desert Rose Up To Frame Her Poem by Violette RoseJones

I was pondering my hunger when I found her;
I hadn’t been anticipating this,
I thought she’d run off like the others,
Then I thought of her mother,
worrying her coffee,
waiting for a call
when I found her,
I was wondering where he was,
the one who bruised her
whilst watching her posing white against the ginger soil.
was she pretending to be an arum lily in a bouquet wrapped in foil?
whilst she lay in the desert, on her back lazily
one arm permanently waving the other
the perfect sunbather; she had been put down
and now she was not getting any browner
nor older in her emerald ball gown,
pulled up around her waist,
her panties torn,
her legs in the form of an piercing p.
her eyes were closed and she wore a warm smile.
a maggot rolled down her cheek.
was she dreaming of her last dance?